Wright that Got Away, page 12
“Why don’t we just…try to start over?” I offered.
He accepted it for the olive branch it was. “I’d like that.” Then, he sighed softly. “Look, you don’t have to do those videos just because my manager asked.”
“Have you considered that I might want to?”
“No,” he admitted.
“You seem adamantly against it.”
“I’m not. I’m just…” He bit the inside of his cheek, shifting from foot to foot and fidgeting, as he always had. That nervous energy crackled through him. Nowadays, he channeled it onto the stage, but before, it had come out like this. “I want to protect you. When you called me, crying, I freaked the fuck out. It reminded me so much of when the police called the night my mom died.”
“Campbell,” I whispered.
“It’s not the same. I know it isn’t. But the instant it happened, I knew that I’d do anything to keep you safe. And the deeper you get involved with me, the more you post videos, the more you let LA weasel in here, into your Lubbock sanctuary, the less I can do about it.”
Despite myself, I put my hand on his arm. He jumped at the touch. “You don’t have to protect me. What happened Sunday was a surprise. I didn’t know that sort of thing could happen. I’ll be more careful now. I won’t be alone.”
“Fuck, I hate that you have to think like that now.”
“It might never even happen again,” I told him. “And I don’t think I should decide everything based on a what-if. Sunday was a lot, but I want to do this, Campbell. I’ve already gotten several offers for things like being on the Today show and a speaking tour for Blaire Blush.”
His eyes lit up with pride. “Really? Blaire, that’s incredible.”
I flushed, true to my namesake. “I actually wanted to ask about how to navigate it. I need help and thought you might know someone.”
“Oh yeah? Like a publicist? I know someone great. She’s New York–based now, but before she moved, we hung out a lot in LA. She’s great. Let me give you her contact. Just tell her I sent you.”
He sent me a text, and my phone dinged. A name and number came up on my phone—Anna English, English & Bhardwaj PR.
“She goes by English,” Campbell told me.
“Well, that was…easier than I’d thought.” I shoved my phone away with a promise to message English tomorrow.
He shrugged. “I have contacts. I just want to make sure this is what you want. I remember when all you wanted was to disappear.”
“I got rid of that girl when you left,” I whispered. “After everything happened, I decided that I didn’t want to disappear ever again.”
As if he couldn’t stop himself from touching me, he brushed my hair behind my ear. “Then, go take over the world. I can’t wait to watch it happen.”
And he was so sincere that it took everything in me to step out of his embrace instead of crushing my lips to his.
18
Blaire
Anna English was a total hard-ass, and I immediately liked her. As soon as I’d texted her, name-dropping Campbell, she’d scheduled a call. At first to verify I was who I’d said I was and then to go through everything that was already on my plate. We worked out the details for a standard contract, and I signed with her before the day was out. I went through my emails and sent her everything that looked even remotely interesting. Things that I didn’t know what to do with, but she apparently ate this stuff for breakfast.
“I’ve got you covered, Blaire. I’m glad Campbell gave you my number. Tell him hi for me, will you?”
“Sure.”
“And if you’re in New York or LA anytime, then let me know, so we can meet,” she said, all business.
“I’ll definitely do that. Thanks, English.”
“My pleasure.”
English was a hundred percent on board with me recording everything that happened with the band when they were in Lubbock. She said she was going to reach out to her LA contacts to see about a possible documentary with Netflix using Blaire’s footage of the band as they create their new album. I had no idea how likely that was, but she seemed like the kind of person who didn’t take no for an answer.
I was still dazed from the speed of everything when I showed up to LBK Studios the next day. I hauled in my serious video equipment. I did most of my social media stuff on my phone for ease of use, but I had better cameras and high-end recorders that I used for Blaire Blush workshops.
I clanked in through the double glass doors, holding a tripod and carrying a backpack full of equipment. If someone had told me when I was getting my psych degree that I’d need to learn how to run my own business, record and manage most of my own videos, and do all of my own marketing, I would have laughed at them. And yet here I was.
“Hey, Blaire. You need any help with that?” Weston asked. He jumped up and offered me a hand.
“Thanks.”
“No problem. Campbell said you were coming to record, but I thought he meant on your phone.”
“I always have to go one extra step, don’t I?”
Weston grinned. “Nora says that’s why you’re so successful at what you do.”
“Ah, well, that’s nice of Nora.”
I glanced up at him as he carried my equipment to the table by the studio entrance. I’d been worried for Nora ever since August had ripped out her heart and fed it through a shredder. She’d seemed a wreck on the soccer field. But having a cute roommate who quoted her to other people certainly couldn’t hurt anything.
“I’m going to leave this here. Why don’t you come in and hear what they’re working on?”
I nodded and slipped into the studio. The band was set up at their various instruments, messing around with the sound on a song I’d never heard before. It was more upbeat than “Invisible Girl” but just as catchy. It reminded me of a fun summer hit that people would dance to in clubs or sing at the top of their lungs while driving with the top down.
“Oh, wow,” I whispered. “What’s this one?”
Weston looked down at the sheet of paper in front of him. “It’s called ‘Rooftop Nights.’ ”
I flushed all over at that. That could not be a coincidence. Campbell and I had kissed on a rooftop, and now, he was singing about it for the entire world to hear. I’d thought it was bad to have one song about me. So far, both songs on the album were about me.
A new feeling awakened in my stomach at that thought. It wasn’t revulsion. It wasn’t the usual fear and anxiety that someone would find out about me. It was…excitement?
Because whatever was happening here with Campbell felt new and shiny while also nostalgic and comfortable. He’d hurt me in the worst possible way. I’d had no idea that I’d be able to feel like this again. Or maybe I’d kept my distance from him because I knew that if I even dared to talk to him again, I’d never be able to walk away. Campbell and I had an inexplicable draw. The minute he’d actually seen me, everything had drifted away, and I’d known I’d never be alone again.
It had started in the unlikeliest of places.
Sonic.
I still rolled my eyes, thinking about it. I’d gotten the job at my mom’s insistence that I learned a hard day’s work. I’d been at Sonic a year, delivering orders on roller skates, and I already knew that I never wanted to work in fast food again if I could help it.
Every Friday night after the big game, we’d get high school students in droves. I skipped all the games because the tips at work were just too good to pass up. Which was how I knew that every Friday, Campbell Abbey showed up in his girlfriend’s shiny BMW convertible. Jill Patton was high school royalty. Her dad owned all the major car dealerships in West Texas. She had a different car every month of the year. It was obscene.
And somehow, she was dating Campbell.
He’d always been cool even though he never gave a fuck what anyone else thought. Maybe it was because he didn’t care.
Jill was dressed in her cheerleading uniform, and he had on his usual outfit of faded jeans and a fitted black shirt. Chuck Taylors on his feet and his hair spiked up. All of their friends took over the spattering of tables in the middle of Sonic, and to my dismay, every Friday, I delivered their food. It sucked because Jill Patton didn’t tip. Apparently, her dad hadn’t taught her manners.
With a sigh, I hoisted the tray onto my shoulder and skated toward their table. I handed out the food and drinks that had been ordered.
“Chocolate shake,” I said, dropping off the drink in front of Jill. “And a banana split.”
“That’s me,” Campbell said.
I passed it to him, barely meeting his eyes.
“Excuse me,” Jill said, annoyed.
I glanced at her. “Can I help you?”
“What is this garbage?”
“A chocolate shake.”
“It’s gross,” she said and thrust the open drink at me to see.
It looked fine to me. I had no idea what she was talking about, but the customer came first. “I can make you another one if you’d like.”
Then, to my abject horror, she flung the shake at me. I gasped, reeling backward on my skates, as the chocolate exploded all over my uniform. Only years of skating kept me on my feet instead of sailing backward on my ass to add to my humiliation.
And it was humiliating.
Everyone laughed. I didn’t look up to meet anyone’s eyes, but I could hear their laughter at my benefit. Only Campbell didn’t join them.
“Jill,” he admonished, jumping up to grab a few napkins. “Come on.”
She just set her shake down, as if she’d done nothing wrong, and said, “Get it right the first time.”
I was shaking with rage. There was fire in my eyes. I wanted to rip her limb from limb. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything.
I turned and fled. I hadn’t accepted the napkins from Campbell. I hadn’t done anything. I just needed to escape this horrible circumstance. I was still supposed to work for another hour, and I couldn’t do it. I didn’t have a spare uniform on me, and this one was unsalvageable.
I almost made it inside, where I could cry and scream obscenities in peace, when I felt a tug on my arm. “Hey.”
I whipped around on my skates. My eyes were red with unshed tears. My hands trembling. “Can I help you?” I forced out.
“No,” he said slowly. “No. I just wanted to apologize. That should never have happened. I can’t believe she did that.”
“Okay.” Because it seemed right up her alley. I didn’t know what he saw in her. How could he not see she was vile?
“Can I help in any way?” He offered up a fistful of napkins.
“No.” And my voice was forceful and mean. It was savage. It could have cut glass with the ferocity.
For a second, as we stood there in a Sonic parking lot, something shifted. I suddenly wasn’t invisible anymore. Campbell Abbey looked at me with all my fury and saw me. He saw the real me that I hid behind a dark brown bob and bangs. That I hid from everyone.
“You’re…Blaire, right?”
I gawped at him. How the hell did he know my name? “Yes?” It came out as more of a question.
“We had Spanish together last year, right?”
“Yes,” I whispered. He’d slept through half the class and never once looked my way.
“I remember you.”
And everything tipped over at those words. They shouldn’t have meant anything at all. This was Campbell Abbey. He was dating the most popular, bitchiest girl in school. He shouldn’t have remembered who I was. He shouldn’t have been looking at me right now, covered in chocolate shake, humiliated and close to tears, with…interest. I definitely shouldn’t have been looking back.
But it all changed then.
He and Jill broke up that night.
Campbell started coming to Sonic every afternoon for a whole different reason. And at first, we hid what was happening because of the wrath of Jill Patton. Not even Campbell wanted on her bad side. I sure didn’t. But then it became so private, so intimate, that sharing it with anyone else felt like giving up a piece of it. And I wanted all of him to myself.
Apparently, I still did.
Campbell finished his song and burst out of the recording room. “Hey, you made it.”
“I did,” I whispered with a smile. “It’s later than I thought it would be. I was on the phone with English all morning. She said to tell you hi.”
“Oh, great. That all worked out?”
I nodded. “Signed with her yesterday, and we worked out all the things she’s going to handle today. She mentioned talking to LA contacts about a possible documentary or biopic of Cosmere using my footage. Obviously, I’d want your consent before going that route.”
Campbell looked thoughtful. “I hadn’t considered that.”
“She thought the angle could be a making of your new album. Lots of artists have been doing them for Netflix recently.”
“I’ll talk to the band. I’m down if you are,” Campbell said.
I smiled and nodded. “There’s nothing certain, but if I’m taking footage anyway…”
“Exactly.” He turned to Weston. “Could you talk Michael through the keys section on ‘Invisible Girl’ again? He keeps missing something, and I’m not sure what it is.”
Weston grimaced. “Uh, sure.”
Then, he disappeared with a backward glance that said, Save me.
“Trouble?” I asked as I pulled equipment out of my bag and set up to record some test shots.
“Nah. Michael is just pissed we’re here. He doesn’t want to take direction. Once we’re back in LA, recording, he’ll be fine.”
“And how long does that take?” I asked, hoping I kept the discomfort out of my voice.
“If we can get all the kinks out here, probably a couple months.”
“Really?” I asked. “That fast?”
“Yeah. Bands used to record a whole album in a night. They just record all day and night, and ta-da, it’s done.”
“But you don’t work that way?” The camera was on his face as he spoke to me about his process.
“I mean, I do. I could sit down today and lay out three or four songs. But to get them right, we have to spend the time on them. I don’t want to rush this.”
I smiled up at him. At the certainty about him. All that nervous energy he always had evaporated when he talked about music. As if when he had a guitar in his hands, he channeled it all into something epic.
“So, after this set, we break for lunch.” I looked up at him over my camera. He ran his hand back through his hair. “If you want to get lunch with me.”
“With you or the band?”
He grinned. “Me?”
“Maybe the band.”
“All right. Fair.”
He shot me one more grin before heading back into the studio. He slung his guitar over his head and talked through the rest of the song with them. Now that Michael was caught up, Weston returned to his perch.
I watched, mesmerized, as they worked through this new song. It was going to be a huge hit. I could already tell. Might even be the one that they opened the album with. And it all started because of me.
19
Campbell
Music spoke to my soul.
It sounded cliché, but it was the goddamn truth. We were making magic in this studio. Even as disgruntled as Michael appeared, he couldn’t resist the allure of the new sounds we were producing. Something that Bobby Rogers was going to be salivating for as soon as he heard “Rooftop Nights.”
It was that big top 40 hit we hadn’t had last album. The one that you just had to tap your foot to and bob your head and dance and rave and lose yourself in. I was already losing myself to it.
And it was all about Blaire. About fireworks in the night sky and kissing under the starlight and dancing the night away. It wasn’t what had happened. The girl didn’t run in my version, but it was a hundred and ten percent the beautiful siren seated in the booth, watching me. Having her here made it all the better, too. Like I was singing my feelings without having to tell her exactly what was between us. Without asking any of those questions. It was how we’d always worked together.
I wanted more, more, more.
One kiss was never going to be enough.
We played for another hour before Santi finally called it quits. “That’s it, man. I need sustenance to survive, bro.”
The rest of the band filed out after him, but despite the long hours in the studio, we were all aglow. As if the music filled them up just as much as it fueled me.
“So, where to?” Santi asked, slinging an arm around Blaire’s shoulders.
I crossed my arms in silent protest. Santi gave me a shit-eating look. He knew precisely how I felt about Blaire at this point. If the music didn’t say it, her being here and how I’d been acting clearly did. I’d dated briefly in the years since we’d been in Cosmere, but nothing was ever like Blaire. If I was reacting to anything at all, he counted it as a win.
“Uh, we’re close to Dirk’s. It’s a fried chicken place,” Blaire suggested.
“Done,” Viv said. She smacked Santi on the back of the head, and they all headed out the door.
“You coming, too, West?” I asked.
He shook his head. “You go on ahead. I’m going to work on this.”
“Want us to bring you something back?” Blaire offered.
“I’m good.”
He waved us off, and we followed the band out. Blaire directed us to the restaurant. We grabbed a large round table at the front and put in our order. Cartoon artwork covered every available inch of brick wall space. I’d never seen anything like it.
“This place is cool.”
“It’s named for the former mayor and Lubbock-area cartoonist,” Blaire explained. “This is all his original artwork.”
“I dig it,” Yorke said with a nod.
Viv looked over Santi’s shoulder after his phone pinged. Her eyes widened. “I’m so jealous.”
