Page 32 of Sky Full of Stars

Arch laughs and shakes his head, then his face changes. “Come on, dude, what got you so drunk you can barely walk… What’s going on?”

“It’s stupid.” He doesn’t grace that with a response, just looks at me. “Remember the chick in New York, the one who punched that guy in the club?”

He shakes his head, his face screwing up in thought.

“I almost got my balls handed to me cos I went outside with her without security.”

“Oh shit, yeah. The near mob. The hot one, David Bowie shirt or something?”

I nod. “Alice In Chains.” I half laugh, it wasn’t just me she was memorable to, that doesn’t surprise me. As I tell him what’s been going on between us, it sounds even more absurd. I don’t get explicit about the phone sex or the photographs. I let him know we’ve done more than just talk, his own imagination can take that where he wants.

“I agree,” he finally says. “You’ve officially lost your mind.”

I glare at him. “She looked so hurt, man. She thinks I pretended to be someone else.”

“You did.”

“How fucked up is it that I was pretending to be me. Not this,” I sweep my hands down myself and around us. “The real me. For a little while, I was Adam Mathews again.”

“He doesn’t exist anymore, dude. Well, not in any real sense.”

It’s hard hearing that. I’ve been swallowed up by all of this and even though I wouldn’t change anything about my career in the music industry, I’d definitely change the way I handled things with Jenna. I wouldn’t lie to her.

“You wanna pull the plug on the band?”

“Fuck no. Where the hell is that coming from?”

“Then get it together,” he tells me again. “I don’t know what is going on in your head over this chick but you have a job to do, Aidan. Going down this rabbit hole is gonna fuck you up. Hell, you said it yourself, it doesn’t make any sense. We have a show to pull off tonight, the fans are expecting us to be better than we’ve ever been. I know it’s a lot to put on your shoulders, it always has been, and it pisses me the hell off that it’s your mug all over the bedrooms of teenage girls all over the world, but this machine wouldn’t work without you.” He studies me, looks like he feels sorry for me. “Move on, man. She will.”

I want to believe that. I really do but he could never really get it. Hurting her is hard to take. With his words, it suddenly dawns on me Kevin would have been there to pick up the pieces of any reaction she had. I clench my fists at the thought of that douchebag touching her. I barely got a glimpse of him last night, I was too focused on Jenna.

“You’ve got until sound check to forget about this. I suggest you do.”

Arch left me alone. He’s right. Of course he is. Doesn’t stop me re-reading all of our texts and looking at her pictures one last time. I hover over deleting it all but I can’t do it. I still don’t know if I am going to go to New York.

What the hell is the point now?

The show goes off without a hitch. I sing my fucking heart out, the pyrotechnics blow everyone away, the fans scream and call us back for three encores, which we oblige, although the third wasn’t planned. Jordan is exhausted from attacking the drums with his usual passion and Nick is happy for us to go on without him, after we decide what we are going to sing, so it’s just Arch and me. We do an old A Capella we wrote together years ago, back when we were struggling to break into the industry, it is just our voices and a few strums of his guitar. It was never recorded so everyone heard it for the first time tonight, it was a big hit and we could still hear the cheers as we went back to the dressing room.

I felt on top of the world. This was what I was born to do.

Despite my plans still being up in the air, we didn’t change the gruelling press schedule the following day. It took the make-up people a little longer than normal to get us looking how they wanted for the photo shoot, me especially. I felt like a tool in a leather jacket with no top underneath. I go through the motions, I am as charismatic as is expected of me during the taped TV interviews. I know Arch is watching me closely and I’m glad to see he seems satisfied I’ve done what he wants me to.

I go home to my place in Malibu for the first time in months. It smells and feels empty, it’s too big for me. It isn’t a home. It’s a celebrity status. The housekeeper has stocked the fridge. I grab a beer and go out onto the balcony overlooking the beach as the sky turns dark. I wonder where she is, if she’s hurting or already over it. She was going home today, her tour over. She is probably punching the shit out of something with a picture of my face on it.

Christ, if she Google’s me, it’s gonna shatter her even more. There have been a lot of stories over the years about things I’ve done, some true, most fabrications, but she wouldn’t be able to differentiate. Or maybe I’m just being big headed, maybe she doesn’t care. Closing my eyes, seeing the way her expression changed from shock, to joy, to pain, I can’t believe she doesn’t care.

Torturing myself is pointless.

I go inside call my sister and arrange to visit. She still lives in White Plains. I tell her I’ll be there tomorrow. I’m refusing to let it into my head that White Plains is barely an hour’s drive from New York City.

Chapter Eleven

I drove down the long driveway of my childhood home on Whitewood Road and parked my rented SUV behind my sisters BMW. She took over our parents’ home when they wanted to downsize a few blocks away. It’s a 1920’s Colonial in a quiet cul-de-sac and, I always remember playing out in the street with all the local kids when we were growing up.

I come back as much as I can and because most people know me here they don’t really bother me as much as I normally have to deal with.

The outside of the house looks exactly the same, except Keira has moved the basketball hoop to the garden instead of above the garage door. She wants Jake, her four-year-old son, to be able to play safely. She didn’t think playing in the drive was safe, even though we both did it for years. I guess when you have kids of your own your perspective on safety changes.

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