Page 69 of Going Solo

Cole’s smile was all teeth and cheeks, but it quickly morphed into an apologetic grimace.

“I’m sorry. I’ve got a round of radio interviews in the US to do. East Coast, then West Coast. Then I’ve got a Zoom call with my US tour team. Then it’s straight to the airport.”

“When do you sleep?”

“Rock and roll, baby!” he said. I felt tired on his behalf.

I looked down, not wanting Cole to see the weird disappointment I was feeling. I pulled at a thread on my onesie. Cole’s finger found my chin, and my heart flipped. I looked up into his soulful eyes.

“I’ll see you on Thursday, though, in Wales,” he said, letting his hand fall. “Chase is coming to the show. He’s looking forward to seeing you.”

“Oh,” I said, returning my gaze to my lap. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to see any of Cole’s old bandmates again. I hadn’t seen any of them since my last day onMake Me a Pop Star.

I wound the loose thread around my finger and tugged at it, but instead of it snapping, a heap of stitches pulled loose, making a great big hole up the length of my leg.

“Bollocks!”

Suddenly, I felt like I was going to cry. Call it stress, call it chronic sleep deprivation, call it being trapped in the back of a car with your ex-boyfriend. But I was literally and metaphorically coming undone.

“Tobias Lyngstad, are you undressing in the back seat of my car?” Cole said. “I don’t know what you think this is, but I’m not that kind of girl.”

“I have to go,” I said. I scrambled for the door handle, flooded with embarrassment—about not only the hole in my onesie but this unshakeable feeling I’d been rejected again. All these old feelings were bubbling up inside me, and I felt a panic attack coming on. I opened the door and made a dash for the elevator. Which, as escape plans go, was not the smartest. I slammed my finger into the button, then had to wait ten seconds for the damn thing to open. Why hadn’t I taken the fire stairs? The doors were right there. My chest tightened. When the lift finally opened, I leapt inside, too terrified to turn around in case Cole was watching me. I flicked my hood up and cast my eyes to the floor, not wanting to catch a glimpse of Cole in the mirror—knowing he must be staring at me. I grabbed at the seam of my onesie, holding it together so my knob didn’t fall out through the hole. My heart was thumping in my chest. After what felt like forever, the doors began to rattle to a close.

“Wait!” I heard Cole shout. I looked up, instinctively, to see the reflection of Cole diving between the closing doors and into the lift. At almost the same instant, I felt his body crash into mine. I lurched forward, into the mirror, and turned to find Cole standing inches away from me, his eyes wide and pleading, his warm, minty breath on my skin. His mouth was moving, but he wasn’t saying anything—nothing I could hear, at least. It was like a fever dream. Everything was in slow motion, fuzzy. Then Cole’s hands—warm, strong, beautiful hands—were sliding inside my hood, cradling my jaw, his fingers trembling as they grazed the hair behind my ears. I was frozen. Then his lips were on mine.

Everything around us dissolved. In an instant, with the warmth of his breath in my mouth, the taste of him on my tongue, we were Cole and Toby again. We were sixteen again. Two young boys, lost in lust and love and wonder. His kiss was a time machine, and we hurtled back to a place before all the hurt, the pain, the monster of fame.

I sank into his body, felt him press against me. Then I pulled myself free and slapped him. A decade’s worth of trauma, of anger, of hate, flooding back.

He put his hand to his face. His eyes met mine, full of confusion. The elevator door opened. I had no idea what floor we were on, who might spring us in here. A photographer? A dozen bloodthirsty Kenneddicts ready to sacrifice me to save their idol? We both spontaneously straightened—stiff-backed like naughty boys, pretending nothing had happened. Fiona was standing there, hands on her hips, looking well annoyed. We hadn’t gone anywhere at all. We were still in the basement. The whole interlude—the kiss, the slap, reliving an entire decade of pain—must have lasted only a matter of seconds. Cole’s eyes were fixed on me. I looked at the floor, my heart pounding in my throat, adrenaline coursing through my body—confusion blurring my thoughts. I was definitely going to cry.

“Cole, you’ve got a pre-record with Seacrest in five,” Fiona said. “I’m sorry, I know this is important. But we have to go.”

Cole nodded. I kept staring at the floor, my fist gripping at the hole in my onesie, unable to leave it alone.

“I’ll see you Thursday,” Cole said, “and we can talk.” I didn’t look up, but I nodded. Cole stepped out of the lift to stand with Fiona. I hit the button for my floor. When I finally looked up, Cole was staring at me.

“Keep pulling at that thread, Toby. Promise me you’ll keep pulling at that thread.”

The doors rattled closed, the ground beneath me shifted, and the elevator started to rise.

ChapterTwenty-Seven

Nick and I were sitting at a grimy service station picnic table beside a plastic children’s playground that was so sun-bleached it looked like it was haunted by the ghosts of other dead playgrounds. We were tucking into Greggs vegan sausage rolls and trying not to think about how much diesel particulate we were ingesting. It had been a quiet journey to Cardiff so far.

“This mood you’re in,” Nick said, licking ketchup off his finger, “I’m guessing it’s about your sexy squillionaire ex?”

I picked a flake of pastry off my sausage roll and let it crumble between my fingers. Since Cole had kissed me in the lift the night before, I had been going over and over it in my mind. What did it mean? Why did he do it? It had sent a million conflicting emotions bubbling up to the surface, and I felt overwhelmed.

“I’m fine,” I said. It wasn’t convincing even to me. There was no way Nick was buying it.

“Are you sure? Because, genuinely, for a while there I thought I’d accidentally climbed into a van with Sally Field. I thought someone’s kidney transplant had failed.”

“Huh?”

Nick looked appalled. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seenSteel Magnolias? It’s literally set in a salon.”

I shook my head.

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