Page 4 of Drum Me Away
She’d had some pretty low self-esteem back then.
And I’d been insanely, obsessively crushing on her.
Maybe I had self-esteem issues too, because I never told her, at least, not until we were knee-deep in this stupid charade and I was having a hard time separating reality from playacting.
But she’d shut me down, because by that point, Faith had confidence for days and she didn’t need my constant encouragement anymore. She didn’t needme.
I liked feeling needed. Or at least wanted. And I didn’t get any of that from this bullshit fake relationship. Not to mention, I was really sick of living with the woman and not being able to touch her.
Gabe hurried over to attend to her; Faith commanded a room like that. Everybody wanted to be close to her, like she was a pied piper or some crap. If he were any other guy, I’d have felt a surge of jealousy over the way he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and led her deeper into the room, cooing and fawning over her, but this was Gabe. Besides being our faithful manager through all the climbing toward success, he wasn’t into women. He didn’t have an unrequited crush on Faith Devempor. Never had, never would.
Unlike the other dumbass in the immediate vicinity.
“I’m sorry you had to hear that, Faith,” Gabe said.
Cold sweat beaded on the back of my neck. Fuck. What had she heard?
Hopefully, not all that lame crap about wanting to start a family. Not that I maybe didn’t feel that way sometimes, but Gabe was right, that was so not the way badass drummer Lucas Lloyd was supposed to feel. My fake relationship with Faith was all about two diehard rockers having a torrid affair that was mostly convenient and supposedly great fodder for song lyrics. We never talked about love, other than in the songs. We pretended we didn’t give a shit what anyone said. We staged moments where I acted jealous over an obsessed fan, and she ultimately threw herself into my arms and kissed me—make-believe kissing, of course.
I mean, it’s hard to fake a kiss, but that’s what we did.
And our fans, our bandmates lapped it up like kittens around a bowl of cream. Back in the beginning, we used to laugh about how ridiculous it was, how we couldn’t believe no one saw through us.
They didn’t see through us because I wasn’t acting. It wasn’t fake to me.
Well, it was, but it wasn’t, if that made sense. Which it didn’t. Which was why I wanted out.
The band—that’s real. The music, the chart-topping albums—all that’s as real as the sun rising and setting every day. So why the hell did we need to carry on some stupid charade that got no one anywhere?
I opened my mouth, prepared to point out that the fans will still be there after our breakup, that our bandmates may be pissed initially when they find out we’ve been living a lie all this time, but they’ll get over it.
Faith said, “I don’t want to lose Lucas.”
My entire world shrank to focus on that single statement. I held my breath, willed her to say more. Or just walk over to me and throw her arms around my neck and declare her undying love.
“The band wouldn’t be the same,” she continued.
The band. Of course. It was always, ever about the band.
“Besides, he’s a founding member. All of this is as much his as it is anyone’s.” She waved as if to encompass the room, but really, she meant our fame.
My shoulders drooped. I strode over to the wet bar and snagged one of those three-ounce liquor bottles. Whiskey. Good. I needed something strong. Didn’t matter that it was nine in the morning.
“Breakups are never amicable, babe,” Gabe said in a soothing voice, as if this was all her idea. “This’ll ruin the band’s image.”
Fuck Lucas. Just focus on the good of the band. Story of my goddamn life.
“We can make this happen,” Faith insisted. “Let’s pull in Dahlia. She’s good at performing miracles. Look what she did for me.”
There was a little part of me that had hoped that when Faith found out I wanted a fake breakup, she’d insist we not do it. That we should stay together. That she wanted it to become real.
Apparently, I was the only romantic in this charade of a relationship.
My dad’s words from a conversation we’d had less than a week ago echoed in my head. What Faith didn’t know— what no one save my family and my best friend knew—was that when I disappeared off the radar six weeks ago, I’d gone home to southern Missouri. Spent time with my parents, my sister, my best friend. Chilled. Relaxed.
Tried to forget about Faith, even for a few moments at a time.
During this particular conversation with my dad, it had been late, really late, and the lake my parents lived on had been quiet and dark, the calm surface reflecting the stars that had been out in full force on a backdrop of a cloudless sky.
