Jay forces me into the shower, and when I return downstairs, Con and Ro have made themselves scarce. Ash and Jay quit talking the second I appear in the kitchen. “Don’t stop on my account,” I drawl, heading straight for the half-empty bottle of JD sitting on the island counter.
“That’s not going to help, Dillon,” Ash softly says.
“Trust me, it’ll help,” I snarl, unscrewing the cap and swigging straight from the bottle. I slam it down when I see the expression on her face. “Stop looking at me like that! Keep your fucking pity. I don’t want it.”
“Dillon.” Jay snakes a protective arm around his girlfriend’s shoulders. “I know you’re hurting, but you can fuck off if you think I’m letting you take this out on Ash.” He points behind me. “Sit your arse down. Ash made you a sandwich. Eat it.”
I do as I’m told, slumping in the chair as the enormity of everything slaps me around the face again. My brain goes into overdrive as I eat on autopilot. “Could that baby be mine?” I ask before taking another bite of the sawdust sandwich. “The timing seems suspect.” I’m remarkably calm as I discuss the thought that first came to me in the shower.
“I know you think she’s done you dirty, but Vivien would not lie if that baby was yours, Dillon. She wouldn’t do that.” Ash claims the seat on my right, setting a mug of steaming coffee down in front of me.
“You’re assuming any of us really knew her at all,” I deadpan before swallowing the last of my food and reaching for the coffee.
“Do you know when she last had her period when she was with you?” my sister asks.
“Early August.” I don’t need to think about it. Everything about Viv is imprinted in my brain as well as my heart.
“Then I don’t think it’s possible. They calculate pregnancy from the date of your last period.” Her hand lands softly on mine. “Her son was born in June meaning he was conceived in September, weeks after you last saw her. I’m sorry, Dillon.”
Pain slams into me, and I shove my coffee away, reaching for the whiskey.
“At least we know now why she ghosted you, love,” Jay says, taking the seat on my left. He drops two glasses onto the table, forcibly prying the whiskey from my hand. After pouring healthy measures into both glasses, he slides one to me.
“It makes sense, but what doesn’t is her calling me now.” Ash frowns.
Wait.My head snaps up. “What?”
“I didn’t know if I should tell you.” She knots her fingers on top of the table. “Viv’s been calling and texting me the past week, asking if we could talk. I haven’t picked up.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s too late. The damage is done.” She curls her hands around her mug. “You’re my brother. My priority is you, and I’m fucking pissed at her for the things she’s done. There’s no going back even if part of me understands.”
“She called to tell you she was getting married,” I say, knocking back the whiskey and reaching for the bottle. “Probably to gloat.”
“Come on, Dil. She wouldn’t gloat.” Ash scrubs her hands down her face. “She probably wanted to warn me. She must know the band has made it. That we’re living in L.A.”
“She’s dead to me,” I calmly say, chugging more whiskey. “I don’t want to talk about her ever again. I don’t want anyonein this house to ever mention her name. Tell Ava the bare minimum in case there is a need to do damage control, but otherwise, no one is to know.” Swiping the bottle, I stand, my chair screeching across the floor. “I want to forget I ever knew the conniving bitch. I hope she’s miserable with him.” Anger comingles with pain as I vent all my fury. “I hope he keeps cheating. I hope she cries herself to sleep every night ruing the poor choices she made.”
I sway on my feet as the adrenaline crash finally hits. Gripping the back of the chair, I add, “I hope she regrets abandoning me.” Ash and Jay trade looks as I clutch the bottle to my chest like a lifeline. My jaw clenches. “And someday, when she least expects it, I hope karma comes for her.”
50
AGE 21 TO 24
Anger is my new best friend in the months after I discover Vivien married Reeve and had his baby. On the one-year anniversary of her leaving me, I finally kiss another woman, but it takes another year before I can fuck someone else. The whole time, I’m a writhing ball of rage. She’s still my muse, still inspiring songs, but a lot of them during this time are full of the hate flowing through my veins. “Hollywood Ho,” “The Regrets Club,” and “Fuck Love” all top the charts the year I’m twenty-three, and I get immense satisfaction every time I hear them on the radio, wondering if she’s listening right at this moment too. She’s got to know they’re about her. I hope they hurt. I hope they drive a stake through her heart the same way seeing her with him always does to me.
Our careers keep us super busy. Our first US tour is a massive success, and the following year, we embark on a world tour which lasts nine months. Con, Ro, and I enjoy the perks of fame, and nights after shows are spent partying, drinking, and fucking. It’s all a blur, and none of it helps alleviate the constant pain in my heart.
Finding time to visit our family is challenging, but we make it back to Ireland at least once a year. Our brothers and parents have traveled to some of our shows, and we love giving them VIP treatment. Ash graduates with her degree and becomes our full-time manager. Frankie is satisfied with his golden handshake though unhappy to have to walk away from a band of our caliber.
The dough is rolling in now, and we’re all independently wealthy. We’re living our dream, and getting to perform our own music to sellout stadiums is the pinnacle of our careers. I love being up onstage. It’s the greatest buzz, and I’m the best version of myself when I’m entertaining a crowd. Music soothes my soul. Yet I can’t fully enjoy it because there’s always something lacking in my life.
The others don’t bring her up. After some of the songs I’ve written, they all believe I hate her. And I do. But I love her too, and the love in my heart far outweighs the hatred. I’m still not over her. I doubt I ever will be. I think I’ll always pine for my Hollywood.
Jay is the only one who knows how fucked up I truly am. How I still watch Shane and Fiona’s wedding video on repeat. How the songwriting journal Viv made me is my most precious possession, along with the Fender she gifted me. How I obsess over all the photos on my phone and wish I could turn back them to relive the memories all over again. Many nights, I’ve sat up late, pouring out my heart to my best mate when the pain almost becomes too much to bear. Ma would be happy to know I’m venting some of my emotions and not keeping everything bottled up inside.
Viv seems happy. They’re photographed all the time, and I’m sick of seeing their smiling faces everywhere. I try to avoid stalking them on social media, but in dark moments, I fall down the rabbit hole, usually ending up a drunken mess after my heart is well and truly annihilated. Ash ensures there are no awkwardrun-ins, rescheduling events if they’re due to attend, and so far, we’ve managed to avoid one another.
