Like right now.
‘You really think Patrick dating a celebrity again is a good idea?’ Wes shot a look over at me. ‘The first time didn’t exactly go … well.’
‘Didn’t go well’ was an understatement. Derek had given me a similar spiel about needing to date someone in the public eye last year and, like an idiot, I’d gone along with it. He’d introduced me to Celine Dellacorte, an up-and-coming actress. Young, hot and talented – she was perfect. And she just happened to be signed to the same PR agency …
But that had ended in disaster, and I wasn’t about to get burned again.
I sighed and leaned back against the wall. The plan had been to come in and sort through the kit. Too many cables, mixing boards and mics had been dumped into random boxesat the end of our sell-out performance in New York. Wes had agreed to come in and help, along with Ben and Matt – our other bandmates. Only Matt had never turned up, and now Derek had found out the rest of us were here and derailed us with his latest scheme.
‘Listen, aftersomeone’slittle mistake,’ Derek said, in what he clearly thought was a delicate tone, ‘the whole band needs to pull their weight!’
I tried not to wince. Someone’slittle mistake.
If you could call a DUI that.
We’d been celebrating the end of the North American leg of the tour, still in New York, and Ben had insisted on driving us to some ‘exclusive’ club that he’d been raving about when he slammed into the back of a car. Thankfully the elderly woman driving the other vehicle was fine, but with three points already on his licence Ben would have been well and truly screwed once the police arrived. Which is why I’d offered to pretend I’d been the one behind the wheel. Ben and I often got told we looked like brothers; it had seemed like an easy fix.
Only, I’d done a bit of celebrating of my own that night already.
It was just a drink. Just one. But it always was, wasn’t it? That was what people said when they were caught drink-driving. Just one blip over the limit, but it was enough.
I woke up the next day to my mugshot all over the tabloids, and all the work spent cleaning up my image for the last two years had been wiped out overnight.
I could admit that my first few years of fame weren’t my proudest. I was a wreck back then: throwing parties that left hotel rooms trashed, going from one model to another – womenand cars. I’d really tested the limits of Derek’s powers. But I’d cleaned up my act, and I couldn’t remember the last time my face had been plastered all over the internet.
Until now.
‘We’re topping the charts,’ I tried again. ‘We went platinum last month, and we’re in the middle of an international tour. Isn’t that enough?’
‘No,’ said Derek simply, pushing back his dark hair. ‘It’s good, but it’s not enough. When people search These Exiles, the first article that surfaces is still the arrest. We need to kill that story, and quick. We can’t go into the next leg of your tour with this hanging over us. Besides, you’re not the only one having to make sacrifices. Ben is hosting a series of charity events; Matt, wherever the hell he is, is going to be on that new celebrity reality show –’
‘God help him,’ I couldn’t help but mumble.
‘– and Wes will be shipping out with the UN tomorrow for one of their celebrity missions. You got off lightly,’ Derek said pointedly. ‘You get to date a celebrity of your choosing. Consider yourself lucky you’re not being bundled off to rehab.’
‘This is not what we signed up for, Patrick,’ Ben muttered from the side of the room. He was sitting on the floor, legs kicked out, eyes not leaving his phone. The dark tattoo that spiralled down his neck was just visible, and the bags under his eyes suggested it had been another heavy night. ‘None of this is.’
He was right.
Four lads from a small town with no regular buses and a sports centre that spent more time closed than open – we hadn’t expected any of this.
Starting the band had just been for a laugh – something to do. We all loved music, we all were bored out of our minds, and college was just an excuse to see our friends. But then things changed overnight and, before we knew it, we had a record deal, and our first album was coming out just as we should have been starting uni.
That was four years ago now. I hadn’t taken a full week off in … I couldn’t remember how long. My neck ached, my DMs were apparently full of scams – not that I’d been allowed to read them for years now – and I was having to wear more and more ridiculous hats to stop being recognized.
I dropped my gaze, reaching into a box for a length of cable that no one had bothered to wrap properly, and started pulling it into loops.
‘Think of the next album deal. You think the record label is going to let you negotiate better terms after a DUI?’
The unfairness of it was gnawing at me. I glanced up at Ben. His eyes were filled with guilt.
I couldn’t hold it against him. I’d hardly been picture perfect, and he hadn’t forced me to take the blame.
The door opened. Matt wandered in, breaking the tension.
‘New idea?’ I asked.That’s it. Turn the conversation back to music.
‘Bad idea,’ Matt said with a sigh, his dark eyes and gangly frame marking him out as the heartthrob of the group – much to his discomfort. ‘Again. What does he want?’ He flopped on to the beanbag next to me.
