“So…the charity concert in L.A. in August. Mal and some of the other people on my team encouraged me to do it. I don’t know how much you know about it, but it was for addiction recovery. Somehow that makes what happened with me…tragically hilarious. I didn’t want to do it, good cause or not, because I was fucking spiraling, and I knew it. I couldn’t get my shit together—and the times I was sober, I was writing songs for my third album, the ones you heard, but the rest of the time, I was high. I decided that I needed to be sober onstage, so I did a self-detox for the week before and, even though it was hard, I did it. I was down to drinking just a little bit before bed and managing to not pop a Xanax every time I turned around.
“But the day of the charity concert—Mal had started trying to wrap me around his finger again. He was telling me that I was beautiful and loved by the masses, but I was a mess and he was the only one who could fix it. We had a huge fight and I went home and drank way more than I should have. Then, still not feeling right, I popped a few Xanax before the car picked me up to take me to the venue. To be clear—I drank way too much and took way too many pills. And I honestly think part of me was hoping to end it all.
“So, at the charity event, I sang ‘Mean Girl’ because it’s a fan favorite from my first album—and then I just started talking. I thought, ‘Hey, these people are my fans. They’ll want to know and hear what I’ve been going through.’ But those people in the audience weren’t my fans. They were there for the charity—and probably for all the other artists who were performing. Those people didn’t get me. Not at all.”
And, for a moment, she relived that scene, one that she knew Quentin had probably read all about. She’d thanked the charity for holding the event and the crowd for being there and then she’d begun giving a speech that she hadn’t practiced but that had been rolling around in her head the entire afternoon until that evening when she’d taken the stage and sang the song she thankfully could have sung in her sleep. She’d said, “I’m sure you know how hard it’s all been for me—but maybe not. You live in your little palaces in Beverly Hills and Bel Air while other people probably fetch things for you, wash your laundry, feed you, suck up to you. So let me fill you in on a secret. I was a little girl when they took me and molded me into the star you see today. I arrived here by talent but recorded an album by letting them use my body. He told me I was lucky to have him—and they didn’t give a fuck. I was their little cash cow, raking in the dough. They told me I should have been grateful—but we all know they took more than they were entitled to.” As she felt her consciousness beginning to slip, her hand losing its grip on the mic, she said, “Hashtag-me-too.”
And, as she fell to the stage, she could hear the squeal from the mic as she succumbed to darkness.
But she’d watched the coverage afterward: the paramedics rushing the stage, putting her on a stretcher to remove her unwanted presence. By the time she was awake and scrolling through her phone, it was out of control and the backlash was brutal. The press was unforgiving and even some of her fans were questioning her judgment.
Hadn’t they fucking heard a word she’d said?
Aloud, she told Quentin, “You probably know what happened when I got to the stage. I said what I said, trying to call all those fuckers out, but before I could finish, I collapsed—and, when I woke up, I had no control over the narrative. It happened way too fast and spread like wildfire. I’m sure you know the label was pissed. They canceled all my tour dates and threatened to not record the third album…and that’s why they sent me here.”
Raine clasped her hands together in her lap again and let out a small breath. Although Quentin had been quiet, she had no doubt he was judging her—and maybe even believing she was full of shit.
When she looked up, he finally spoke. Even though his voice was quiet, it felt like thunder. “Was there ever a time, through any of that, where you felt like you could say no?”
Two tears dropped at almost the same time, but she pursed her lips together, forcing them to stop quivering. And then she said, “No. And I know the media had a heyday with what happened at the concert, saying my partying had finally gone too far—but that wasn’t fucking it. Obviously, they hadn’t listened to a goddamn thing I’d said.” Letting out a long breath, feeling like now she was in control, she shifted her eyes from Quentin to her hands again. “They just couldn’t see that I was trying to escape my reality. Instead, it was just a big fucking joke.”
When she looked up at Quentin again, he gave her a soft nod, his eyes telling her that he believed her—and he saw her.
Despite all his press…she could see compassion in Quentin. He’d listened to her go on and on and didn’t make any assumptions, didn’t press for details, didn’t make her feel like her past was her fault. Maybe what had happened to him in his past was partly bullshit too. Although she didn’t know for certain, she did know one thing: this man was good for her. For perhaps the first time in her life, she was glad to have someone like him in her life…
And she felt a cold chill move through her body. She wanted Quentin in her life and didn’t want to lose him…and that was the most dangerous feeling of all.
Chapter 13
By early October, they’d made a lot of progress, but it was much like three steps forward, two steps back. They’d spent over a week working on one song in particular and had finally decided to put it on the back burner because it just wasn’t working out the way they’d wanted it to. Quentin promised to come back to it later, but he relaxed when he saw that Raine wasn’t disappointed.
They were both tired of that particular tune—but that didn’t mean it was bad. It just needed to rest for a bit.
Overall, though, Quentin was pleased with their progress and Raine’s professionality, something he hadn’t expected when she’d first arrived. And, of course, he still found a pull towards her that he couldn’t ignore—but hearing her tell him about her manager a couple of weeks earlier had strengthened his resolve to keep the boundaries he’d set in place. Despite his determination, there was no getting around the desire to protect her. She’d been through so much shit already in her young life and she’d been thrown to the wolves without a soul around to keep her safe.
Raine arrived in the studio a few minutes after he did that morning. She’d begun using his treadmill, forgoing his offers to take a walk around the property, saying that she wasn’t going to chance meeting a snake. But she was using the treadmill every morning and eating a light breakfast right before coming to the studio—and, while she did that, he’d get everything set up so he’d be ready when she got there.
She really was a hell of an artist. Although she’d taken some coaxing on occasion, she’d blossomed before his eyes. And he wasn’t about to take any credit for it. He’d done nothing more than find a thirsty plant and give it a little water. The plant itself had done all the growing, and he felt honored that he was able to witness it and somehow be a part of it.
His computer was acting glitchy, so he rebooted it, hoping to have everything up and running by the time Raine arrived.
Unfortunately, he didn’t.
She walked in just as his computer announced that it was going to update its operating system. Goddamn it.
Raine said, “I’m ready whenever you are.”
“I’ll just be a couple minutes. My computer decided now was a great time to update.”
“Okay. I’ll get set up in the live room. Are we doing vocals first?”
“Yeah, if you’re okay with that.”
“Yeah.”
While she walked into the live room, he sat down to wait for his computer to do its thing. When it presented the login screen, he typed in his password and opened the main program he’d be using to record her. Then, turning around, he saw her looking through his guitars in the cabinet against the wall. He said, “I’m ready.”
Pivoting so she was pointing at one of the guitars but looking at him, she asked, “Do you ever miss it?”
