Heartbreaker: A Second Chance Rockstar Romance Read online

  And yet…I wondered if the trade-off was worth it. If the sense of community that we used to have with our fan-base could ever be replaced by the monetary gain. If the pride of selling out our first show, of having our first song played on the radio, could ever be rivaled by topping charts.

  The music didn’t feel as personable now either. The lyrics didn’t hit as close to home. My manager was urging me to write about subjects that would sell, instead of allowing me to write the words I was feeling.

  In a few months, I might need a change of pace from all of this, might need to step back and reconsider my decisions, and where I wanted to go. Maybe then it would be time to move management and labels, to embark on a new journey of self-realization.

  But for now, I had more pressing matters to deal with.

  My heart still clenched whenever I thought about it, in that strange way that the brain had of translating emotional pain into something physical.

  I had messed up. There was no question about that.

  But I wanted to be able to explain things to Lillian; even if she wasn’t in the place to give me a second chance, I at least wanted to know that she knew I had never meant any of it, that I had made some horrible decisions and I was deeply sorry about it. I recognized the wrongness of my ways. That I hadn’t meant to ignore her, would’ve done things completely differently if I could do them over again.

  I only hoped that I hadn’t ruined things so badly that there would never be a chance to apologize or try things over again. But in a way, I knew that now wasn’t the best time to do it. And in my contemplation, I would lose out on the time I could’ve made things right. Instead, I spent my last night in New York sleeping.

  23. (Sebastian)

  It had been a month since Lillian came back into my life. After this entire time of longing and wanting nothing more than to be with her again, she was finally back in my life. Things were really starting to pay off, and my hard work was netting me the fruition of my deepest desires.

  I pulled into the parking garage of my apartment, loosening my tie from a long hard day at work, and making it up the elevator to finally be home sweet home. I collapsed into the leather chair in my living room, taking a deep breath in. The skyline of New York during the sunset was a sight to behold, and I cherished every drop of it.

  The colors seemed to blend together like that of a painting, pinks and yellows seemed to dance together merrily, merging into each other, creating a magnificent purple that seemed otherworldly. I could feel a deep contentment within myself. My childhood lover was finally, finally back in my life—if only as just a friend. My career was skyrocketing. I had a roof over my head, and everything I could’ve ever needed was right there at my fingertips.

  I thought I would take it easy for tonight and call it a day. I smiled to myself and fell fast asleep in my leather chair, only to be awakened by a buzzing from my phone.

  Hey, handsome, you free tonight?

  I replied back.

  Maybe not tonight, Bella. I have plans later.

  23. (Lillian)

  I felt back to normal, back to my old self, peppy and ready to move on from old flings. The weather was warming up, and summer was upon us. There were increasingly more things to do in the busy streets of New York: performing folk bands, block parties, flea markets, outdoor shows, and there was always a patio somewhere serving happy hour.

  Sebastian had been hanging out with me and Rebecca more often too, and the three of us would go on triad dates from time to time, whenever Sebastian wasn’t busy. Summer was high time for lawyers, and there was always a case he had to be working on. The three of us would be on a patio somewhere, chugging back drinks, laughing at some joke Rebecca made, and I would relish in the time we spent together.

  It was times like these where I had a glimpse of the naivety I felt before I met Ash, before I was pulled into a whirlwind of roller coaster love.

  When I had pictured heartbreak, I had pictured something dramatic. I had pictured him becoming too much for me, becoming bored of me, leaving me to cry in the trail of his motorcycle exhaust as he zoomed off to chase the bright lights of stardom.

  I hadn’t pictured a sudden break, an unresponsiveness, a change that no one could expect. I hadn’t expected Sebastian to come back either, and certainly not as a friend. But here I was, and things were the way they were, and I supposed that it had to be for a reason. I turned back to my friends sitting in front of me now, Sebastian and Rebecca raising a toast “to friendship!” as I clinked my glass in between them.

  I could feel the heartbreak leaving me now. I could feel the process allowing me to let go and move on, the grips of infatuation loosening its claws. I took one last sigh of relief, and in appreciation of the moment, put everything behind me.

  “I’m actually excited for this,” Rebecca said, turning to me and handing me the guide. We had been planning this hike for a long time now, and I decided to follow through with the plans. Saranac Lake was a thirty-one-mile hike up, with what I heard was an amazing view.

  After everything that the two of us had gone through, a girls’ trip was something we were both looking forward to.

  “Thanks for coming with me, Becca; doing this thing alone wouldn’t have been the same.”

  I wanted to convey my gratitude for having such an amazing companion in my life.

  “This will be as fun for me as it will be for you.” Rebecca tossed me a quick wink, almost

  a little flirtatiously.

  The two of us made it up the mountain slowly, admiring all of the greenery surrounding us along the way. Getting away from the land-locked streets of the busy city was as much underappreciated as it was brushed over. But being in nature reminded the both of us that this was necessary to connect back to Mother Earth, and to be back in nature where we primally belonged.

  At the very top, lost of breath, I stood over the landscape overlooking the horizon. I reminded myself of my past goals, my past self, and my present self, remembering that all I had was this moment now. I took a deep breath in, and whispered to myself, “I’m ready for a new beginning.”

  1. (Lillian)

  I groaned, starring at a blank document on my computer screen. Crumpled post-it notes were scattered around on my desk. I could feel a headache coming on from the lack of caffeine in my system, and I couldn’t help but feel hopeless.

  I hated admitting that my fling with Ash Bennett, the lead singer of Dreams of Compass Gods, might’ve been the thing that kickstarted my career—although to me, it seemed like much more than just a fling. I felt a little hurt that it was over, and I was still trying to get over it all. But now, all I could think about was that that fling might also be effectively ending my career.

  Where in the world was I supposed to come up with images as evocative as the ones I took with Ash? I was falling in love with him, and those pictures were somewhat of a memoir to our time together. All I ever wanted was to become a photojournalist, and now all I could worry about was not being cut out for it.

  If I couldn’t get past this little roadblock, did I have any right to call myself a photographer? My pen rhythmically tapped against the desk as I tried to think of more ideas and concepts. My editor wanted another photo story in the next issue, and after my last few flopped, I knew I was on thin ice.

  Really, Lillian? A new dog park opening? Did you seriously think that that would be powerful enough for our audience? I’ve come to expect more of you.

  I could my editor’s voice, so disappointed, so disapproving. Was it all just a fluke?

  I glanced up at the clock next to my computer and cursed to myself silently in frustration. It was getting late, and staying at the office past ten was absurd, no matter how desperate I was for the muse of inspiration to strike. With a sigh, I packed up my camera and laptop, scraping the discarded ideas into the trash. Hopefully a full night’s rest would make me more productive in the morning.

  After locking up, I got an Uber for a ride home; I knew better to
be walking so far at night. I waited for the ride to get there, distracting myself with the hustle and bustle of sleepless New York. I was going to be okay, I told myself, as I took a deep breath in. There was no point in stressing over this, and if there was nothing I could do, no good could come of worrying.

  The street was dark; a few streetlamps was all there was for lighting. And suddenly, something off in the distance caught my attention. There was a smallish theatre not too far from my building that was host to amateur ballet recitals. There must’ve been a show that night because the building was lively and I could see and hear ballerinas laughing, coming and going around the corner. I was fascinated as I watched them from afar.

  They had their hair tied up, large sweatshirts covering up their dance attire, and plain tennis shoes to top it all off. One of them was running ahead of the others, twirling and leaping in a display of talent and joy. The others seemed to egg her on, then joined her in showing off what they could do. They were like lithe fawns in a forest—all long legs, wide eyes, wet noses, and innocent suppositions. There was something about the display that was both fiercely intimate and passionate; my first instinct was that it would make a lovely photograph.

  Then it hit me.

  The idea was so simple—and it had been lingering in the back of my mind for so long, but I had pushed it away every time it dared come to the surface, too afraid of what it might mean…go back to your roots! Go back to what had worked so well for me in the first place. But that didn’t have to mean going back to Ash. That didn’t mean documenting small-time rock stars or falling in love with them.

  No; more than anything, it meant performance. It meant passion. It meant capturing the raw and intimate moments of people who devoted their lives to existing in a way that was so public—to perform in front of an audience.

  It meant exposing these kinds of moments, and everything else that happened when nobody was watching, when they weren’t trying to entertain, as well as the sheer talent and charisma that they held, standing on a stage in front of a crowd.

  It was something worth considering, and certainly something worth bringing up to my editor. I pulled out a pad of paper and a pen from my purse and hastily scribbled down my thoughts so that they wouldn’t fly away in the wind like dandelion seeds.

  2. (Bella)

  It was a cool, crisp morning in New York, and I was alone in my apartment. I went through my music library, letting the vibe envelop me as I began stretching. I settled on a slow melodic jazz number, one that felt mellow and relaxing. It felt good to relieve all this tension in my muscles and to push myself to new heights of achievement. I knew that if I kept working at this stuff on my own, late into the night, I’d reach my goals by the end of the year. After all, I got this far already.

  After getting a good stretch and feeling sufficiently loose, I sat back down at my desk and pulled out a sketchbook. Along with that, I pulled out some fabric samples as well to use as references in my designs as I began to create embellished samples. I had worked for a while as a costume designer in several smaller ballet theatres back on the West Coast, and I moved as the work came to me. I was grateful for the support my parents gave me, which allowed me to follow my dream.

  Eventually, my talents were recognized, and now I was working as a seamstress for the New York City Ballet Company, applying embellishments and making final fits for the dancers. But now, my dream was to work my way up to becoming a designer, to contribute my creative ideas to the process instead of just being a sidekick. I wanted to be the mastermind behind the designs, the one who brought masterpieces to life.

  As I became more transfixed in my work, I felt my phone buzz—at first, I decided just to ignore it, too focused on the beading that I was currently trying to perfect. But then the thought of it maybe being Sebastian flashed through my mind. My insides churned with warmth at the thought. Although admittedly it wasn’t the warmth of love, nor was it infatuation—but it was the warmth of sexual desire.

  My relationship with Sebastian had been much less confusing for a while now, ever since we had that talk on where things were going. When we last met, we had a sit-down to go over things. At first, I thought that maybe he was going to tell me that it was over, that whoever he was in love with had finally come back to him. But instead he was completely honest with me for the first time since we met. He told me that he could probably never feel anything for me other than lust, not as long as he still had feelings for someone else.

  Since then, the nature of our relationship changed. We pretended less. We were more open and accepting of each other’s needs, of each other’s space and privacy. Sebastian was often busy with his work during the daytime, so most of the time we would meet in the evening, and for only one purpose.

  Sex.

  I hadn’t heard from him in a few days, and so as my phone buzzed again with another text, I wondered if perhaps it was Sebastian, finally giving in to his desires again.

  With a shallow breath, I flipped my phone over.

  Come over.

  It was a simple text, commanding, provocative. And I hated the fact that it turned me on so much. He had so much sexual power over me that he could seduce me with just two words. Sebastian knew which role to play, and he knew which buttons to press to turn me on.

  Though, of course, that would be the only power he would ever have over me. This exploitation was merely one that allowed me to move forward. My needs were met, and the commitment was low, allowing me to focus completely on my future and where I wanted to be in the world.

  With a smile, I set my handwork aside and sent a quick text.

  On my way.

  3. (Lillian)

  I got home pretty late that night, and my roommate, Rebecca, was in the living room waiting for me. She was that type of person to wait up for me because she was worried. She’d been working all night on her knitting orders for her Etsy shop. Orders were taking off, rolling in for all sorts of designs. Her chunky embroidered scarfs were by far the most popular, and it was one of those that she was currently working on while binge-watching Golden Girls.

  “How was work?” she asked as I set down my bag and flopped on the couch.

  I was about ready to pass out right then and there, and Rebecca couldn’t say she’d blame me. For one thing, the couch that her stepbrother, Sebastian, bought her when she moved in was incredibly comfy. And Rebecca knew that I was going through some hard times lately.

  “It was terrible,” I replied, my voice was muffled as I pressed my face into one of the lop-sided pillows Rebecca made.

  “You could always work for me; we could stay home all day and watch whatever we want. Orders are getting busy enough that I think I might need the extra help.”

  “No thanks. I think I may have just had a breakthrough.”

  “Wow, is the thought of working with me that bad?” Rebecca teased.

  “No.” I rolled over onto my back. “It’s not that; I just did some thinking on the way home.”

  “And?”

  “I think I need to go back to what worked for me.”

  If Rebecca had something in her mouth at that moment, she would have choked.

  “Excuse me? You can’t mean going back to your ex-boyfriend.”

  “No, no, I think we both know that that ship has sailed and there’s no turning back now.”

  “Okay, then what were you thinking?”

  “Performance. Passion. A front-view and backstage look at some other New York City performers. Maybe ballet, maybe something else; we’ll see what my editor thinks.”

  “Well, it definitely sounds much better than the dog park.”

  “Hey! It was a current event.”

  “That nobody needed photographed. Sure, the dogs may have been cute, and your photos would be incredible as always, but at this point, everyone knows you can do better than that.”

  “Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

  Sometimes I needed Rebecca to support me in her kind of teasing and sof
t way of getting her point across. No matter how much it hurt, Rebecca was always the type of person to give me that reality check I needed. She knew exactly what creative blocks felt like, being somewhat of an artist herself.

  There were always ideas flowing out of that brain of her, always a drive to create, even if the things she made weren’t always the best. She wasn’t in the public eye though; she got to choose the work that she displayed, and even then, she worked for herself—not for anyone else. I thought it was really cool that Rebecca was able to figure out that life for herself, just being able to create all day and sell her creations.

  She didn’t have to meet her bosses’ expectations, could keep her own schedule; what’s more—she could stop production whenever she wanted to. How the tables had turned. There was a time where Rebecca was in a rut and I was the one flourishing. Not all good things could last forever.

  “You should get some rest,” Rebecca said, patting me on the shoulder. “You’ll think even better in the morning.”

  “Aren’t you going to go to sleep?”

  “I’ve still got some stuff to do, and this episode is about to finish,” Rebecca answered, lifting her knitting as explanation. “My orders are backlogged.”

  “Congratulations,” I replied, sitting up and yawning. I threw my arms over my head. “I’m going to go to bed then; don’t stay up too late.”

  “You should learn to take your own advice,” Rebecca teased as she watched me stumble off to my bedroom.

  I almost forgot to take my bag and turned around embarrassed before snatching it up. I caught a glimpse of Rebecca shaking her head and that look of worry flashing across her face. Rebecca had my back, and after witnessing me go through a bad breakup: we were able to form a newfound understanding of each other.