NOTE: Well, here we are, everyone. The last chapter of my very amusing side project that shouldn't have taken as long as it did...
I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it! Some credit is due in this chapter to: Perez Hilton's website, where I got the idea for Alicia's gossip site from, and R5, for writing 'Do It Again,' a song I very much enjoy that I suggest you listen to ASAP.
Thank you very much if you have been a dedicated fan to this, and thank you if you have reviewed, even if it was to yell at me for abandoning this story for, like, a year. Your anger and insistence gets me all riled up and I normally can get something out after some prodding, so y'all rock. :)
'This Crown May Be Broken, But It Still Fits Like A Glove': America's Sweetheart Skye Hamilton Checks Into Rehab
12/30 6:47 AM ET | Filed under: Alcohol — Rehab — Skye Hamilton — Popstar
It's been reported that teen singing sensation, Skye Hamilton, aged 18, has checked into rehab.
The first leg of her worldwide tour has been canceled in order for the teenager to get all the help she needs. Momager Pamela Hamilton has been worried about her daughter for months now, as the popstar has developed a bit of an addiction to alcohol.
The location of Ms. Hamilton's rehab facility is kept under wraps, even from us gossip wranglers, but from what we've heard, it has a five star rating and will no doubt help our favorite singer out of her funk in no time.
The first step to recovery is acceptance, and we applaud Skye for seeking help at such a difficult time.
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from: alicia
to: massie
tell me you saw the skye post on my site
from: alicia
to: massie
it was very last minute but COME ON kori could have done 35% better
from: alicia
to: massie
the title irks me
from: alicia
to: massie
also I'm not applauding skye at all ugh
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from: alicia
to: massie
heeeellloooooo?
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from: alicia
to: massie
did derrick steal your phone again
from: alicia
to: massie
don't know why he would want it, it's such a piece of shit
from: alicia
to: massie
ok sorry that was rude
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from: alicia
to: massie
no seriously massie why aren't you answering
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from: alicia
to: massie
you won't even answer your door? come on griffin can't blame you for this
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from: alicia
to: massie
ok fine call me when you feel up to it
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from: derrick
to: massie
band's got the whole day off, you wanna do something?
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from: derrick
to: massie
massie i just talked to alicia come on you can't ignore everyone forever
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from: derrick
to: massie
massie
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"You have four new messages. First voice message . . .
Massie, it's Griffin. We need to talk. Come to the office as soon as you can.
Next voice message . . .
Hello, it is your dear friend Chris. We still have tequila left. We can drink until you forget you're sad! And then if we're feeling most spunky, we can call your asshole boss and tell him how we really feel. Or we can prank call him! Whatever you like.
Next voice message . . .
Massie, I thought you — I thought we . . . I thought there was something between — call me. Please.
Next voice message . . .
Massie, you're being dumb. I told you the band would perform in place of Skye. They've all agreed to it. We even got our manager on board; all you have to do is tell us and we're good to go. Wouldn't it look better if you lost a performer and then got another one? Wouldn't your boss like that? Come on, Massie. Call me back. Call somebody back.
End of new messages . . ."
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.:. december 31 .:.
8:05 AM
Massie rolled over with a loud groan. Sunlight filtered through her curtains, blinding her in her hazy, sleepy state of mind. She took a spare pillow and pressed it against her face to make it dark again. The recurring thought of "if I apply enough pressure I could smother myself" entered her mind — as it had for the past two days — but she wasn't suicidal, just completely miserable.
Her phone vibrated for what felt like the hundredth time. "Oh, will you SHUT UP," she snapped, arm shooting out to grasp the damn thing. She didn't even bother to check who was trying to reach her; it was probably Alicia, or Derrick, or even Chris, who was starting to look for her as well.
It stopped, then picked up again, and with a short, high-pitched yell, she threw it across the room.
The phone hit the wall opposite her bed and fell from there into her laundry basket. For a moment it was silent again, and she breathed a sigh of relief, relishing in it. For a moment she could pretend everything was alright . . . and then it went off again.
Why couldn't it have broken when it hit the wall?
Why were the vibrations so loud?
Again, Massie hid beneath a pillow, breathing in the stuffy smell of old shampoo. Her phone vibrated, and vibrated, and vibrated, and vibrated, and vibrated until, finally, the sound somehow lulled her back to sleep.
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10:19 AM
Alicia sighed angrily, jabbing the 'END' button as hard as she could. The force almost broke her finger, but it didn't make her feel any better. That was the tenth time this morning Massie's phone went to voicemail.
"No luck?" asked Derrick.
"Here, drink this," said Chris.
She didn't know how she ended up here, of all places, while her friend was currently MIA. She could have bothered Claire, or even Dylan, but the first thought she had revolved around calling any member of Low State. Turns out she had three of the five members' numbers, and dialed Derrick's, since he was probably just as annoyed — read: worried — as she was about Massie.
"It's too early to get drunk, Christopher," she tutted.
"It's a mimosa," he shot back. "You drink these at brunch. It's appropriate brunch time, is it not?"
Alicia threw him a rather dirty look.
"Fine," he emphasized annoyingly, "I'll drink it. And FYI: it's never too early to get drunk, especially now, since Massie could be dead in a ditch somewhere and you two are just sitting here, moping and calling her every two seconds —"
"She's not dead in a ditch," Alicia snapped at the same time Derrick shouted, "I'm not moping!"
Chris snorted derisively — at Derrick, of course, because obviously Massie was not in any sort of ditch anywhere. His friend was just sitting there, feet propped up on the coffee table, arms crossed over his chest, an annoying pout on his face. He'd been like this for the past two days, ever since he left that pathetic message on Massie's phone (yes, Chris had been eavesdropping).
He — meaning Chris — knocked back the mimosa he made. "Aaaah," he said after swallowing, and again Alicia glared at him. It was a bit stronger than he would have liked, but being around these miserable humans was annoying enough; he might make another.
"Have you tried going to her place?" He pulled the champagne out of the fridge. The orange juice was already on the counter. "Like, knocking on the door?"
"Do you think I'm dumb?" Alicia asked, dialing Massie once again. This time the phone didn't even ring. Straight to voicemail. She sighed again. "She didn't answer."
Chris pursed his lips, staring at her for a moment or two longer than he should have. She was insanely pretty, something he noticed almost every time he saw her. Long dark hair which was rarely down, styled in some sort of elaborate braid or whatever, the lightest brown, doe-like eyes, the cutest nose, full, full, full lips . . . she'd be perfect if she weren't in the line of work he so outrightly abhorred.
Gossip, tabloids — they were the bane of his existence. Coincidentally, they were also the reason the entire world thought he and Skye were a thing and then subsequently hated him for "breaking her heart." As if.
With a shake of his head, he rid himself of these thoughts. Not the time nor the place. He forwent the orange juice, a bit overwhelmed, and poured himself a full glass of champagne.
"You're kidding me, right?" he demanded after taking a large mouthful. "You and Massie are like two peas in a pod, but worse. You're telling me you don't have copies of each other's house keys? I have a copy of Derrick's!"
"Oh my god, Chris, you're a genius!" Alicia leaped up, raced around the countertop, and pressed a big kiss to his cheek. "I don't know why I didn't remember that! Ugh, love you!"
And then she was gone, leaving Chris in the kitchen, face as red as a tomato.
"You have my key?" Derrick asked, a shit-eating smirk replacing his pout.
"Uh . . . yeah." Chris cleared his throat, rubbed the back of his neck, tried to get rid of the heat. "I, uh . . . need to know where you are at all times — stop looking at me like that!"
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11:58 AM
"Massie, Massie, Massie, Massie, Massie."
Alicia's fist hit the front door of Massie's apartment a little bit louder each time she said her name. Sweat dripped down from her temples, and she felt sticky and gross. Given it was New Year's Eve, getting anywhere in this city was an atrocity. The subways were packed, the subways were late . . . It took her almost an hour to get to Massie's from the Solomon.
And now the bitch wouldn't answer the door.
"I have coffee, Massie!" she yelled. "Yours has an extra shot of espresso. Come on, answer me!"
Nothing.
"Massie!"
She slammed both hands against the door, knocking out a most annoying tune.
"Answer the door!"
Again — nothing.
"Fine." Alicia stopped what she was doing, rifling through her purse. "I hate having to do this to you, but you leave me no choice . . ." A few moments passed, she found the spare key Massie gave her years ago, and stuck it into the lock. "I'm coming in."
She waited, counted to fifteen and back, and when Massie didn't answer, she turned the key and pushed the door open.
It was completely silent.
Everything was in its proper place. There was no mess, no disorganization. Massie's keys were on the table, her shoes — the ones Alicia had complimented and seen her in the other day — by the closet in the hall.
She wasn't dead in a ditch, that much was for sure.
Alicia walked farther back where the bedrooms were. Massie had two. One for her, and the other was a guest room. Alicia spent a number of nights crashed there, but even more in Massie's own bed with her by her side. And right in front of her was that very room, door shut. Without calling out, Alicia reached forward, turned the knob, and entered.
Massie was lying in the middle of her bed, pillow on her head, one arm dangling off the side of the bed.
It would be a humorous sight if Alicia hadn't been so concerned (and annoyed). Slipping off her shoes, she leaped, bouncing on the bed before crawling over her friend.
"Oh, here you are!" she trilled, pulling at the pillow covering Massie's face.
Massie's grip tightened and she mumbled, "Go 'way."
"Nope," sang Alicia, and she yanked with all her might. The pillow finally loosened and she tumbled back, victorious. "I would like to know why you've been ignoring my text messages and my calls and my house visits, thank you kindly."
Eyes still closed, Massie replied, "I've been waiting for Death to come and take me."
Alicia rolled her own. "You know, you are so dramatic, I don't know why you never pursued a career in acting."
"Too competitive," was the answer.
"Oh, alright," Alicia agreed. She dropped herself down by Massie's side, snuggling herself into the soft mattress. "Now this is not the way to go, I hope you know that. Besides," she added as almost an afterthought. "You're not going to die."
"It's the same thing — I'm going to get fired." The whine in Massie's voice was starting to grate on Alicia's nerves; for the past week, that was all she heard.
"And so what if that happens?" Alicia asked. "So what if you get fired? Life goes on. You'll get another job. Hell, you could get a better job. There's no point in sulking. People get fired, people get dumped . . . all sorts of bad things happen to everyone everywhere, and you know what? Life goes on!"
Massie opened her eyes and turned, staring at Alicia impassively.
"Life goes on," repeated Alicia, as if she were just realizing this. "Life goes on. You can't stop anything from happening, but you can take it, and you can continue to live it to the fullest. If you lose your job, you lose your job. It's not the only one there is. There are others. All you have to do is get out of bed and you'll find them!"
"Shut up," snapped Massie, rolling over and burying her face in her pillow.
"Massie, don't you get it? You have to stop caring so much about this. It's just one little mistake. And it's not even your fault. So what if you were the one who booked Skye? She's the one with the problem, she's the one going to rehab — you had nothing to do with it, and if Griffin decides to punish you for Skye's addiction then it's his own loss. And you can find a better boss for you, one that won't fire you if something out of your control happens. You just need to look at the brighter side of things."
"Are you aware what you sound like right now?" asked Massie, and without giving Alicia a chance to reply, she answered, "Annoying."
Alicia sighed loudly. "You can't mope forever, Massie. It is very unbecoming."
Massie snorted. "Watch me."
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1:15 PM
"You can't stay in bed all day, we had plans!"
"That was when my life was going great, and now it's not, so I do not care."
"It's New Year's Eve."
"Oh, wow, really?"
"Come on, Massie!"
"Go celebrate if you want to so badly, then. Leave me here to die."
Alicia hit Massie over the head with her pillow.
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2:06 PM
"Don't you have to go to work?"
"I don't think I work there anymore."
"Have you even been there since Skye —"
"No," said Massie, "and I will not."
Alicia sighed. "Well, that's going to get you fired, definitely. Not going is just dumb, Massie. Get up."
"I don't want to get up!"
"You sound like a child."
"I wish I were a child."
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2:15 PM
"Don't make you pull me out of this bed and dress you myself, Massie Jillian."
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2:25 PM
Massie Jillian did, in fact, make Alicia pull her out of this bed and dress her herself.
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3:00 PM
"I'm up, I'm dressed — are you happy now?" demanded Massie, glaring at Alicia, who was sitting rather smugly in the middle of her (most comfortable) bed, legs crossed in some sort of yoga pose.
"Ecstatic," said Alicia. "Though I wish you were wearing a different shirt."
Massie looked down. "What's wrong with it?"
"Nothing. I just don't like that color."
"It's blue."
"I hate blue."
"Since when?"
"Uh . . . always?"
Massie glared at her, flopping back down on her bed. "So what are we doing today?"
Alicia followed her lead, being more chipper than the other girl, and stretched her skinny arms over her head. She was already dressed in her New Year's outfit: the obligatory sparkly top and a pair of skin-tight jeans that made walking a lot harder than she wished. Everyone who wore dresses out tonight was insane; it was freezing.
"What we always do," she chirped.
"I'm really not up for the bar crawl," groaned Massie. "You and Claire can go do that."
"I'm not ringing in the new year without you! Get your head out of your ass and have fun, but first — call Griffin."
Massie pursed her lips. "I'd rather not."
"Well, too late."
"What —" Massie looked over to see her friend's fingers flying across her own phone — the shitty one Alicia always complained about — and shot her arm out as quickly as she could. "Alicia, stop!"
"You need to talk to him," said Alicia, and she held up a finger. "Hi, yes," she spoke into the phone, tone softer and friendlier. "Is Griffin Hastings there? . . . Thank you." She turned back to Massie. "I'm assuming since you weren't answering my calls, or Derrick's calls, or anyone else's calls, you've avoided Griffin's as well. And that's very un-adult-like of you, so . . . talk to him." She smirked, and dropped the phone on Massie's chest.
Massie tried to ignore it, and it worked for a while. That is, until she heard Griffin's voice: a sharp "Hello?"
Alicia hopped off the bed and exited the room, off to do God knows what, and Massie, reluctantly, picked up the phone.
"Griffin, hi. It's, uh, Massie."
"Massie!" he greeted. "How are you? I haven't heard from you in quite some time."
She rubbed her eyes with the sleeve of her top, wincing at the hardness of the lace material. "Yeah, it's been a rough week. Skye refused to commit. I'm sorry."
There was a pregnant pause and Massie willed herself, prepared for the worst, the words she'd been fearing since the start of the week. She'd practically killed herself for this job, bent over backwards, worked overtime so many nights . . . and now she was done. Out. Just like that.
"Well, things happen," Griffin said, and Massie let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. The world seemed to come back into focus; it even looked a little brighter, smelled a little nicer. "The tabloids are exploding — this is quite the story. Never would've pegged Skye Hamilton to be that kind of celebrity, but you know the deal with child stars . . ." He sighed. "But anyway, I'm glad you called. I'm very impressed with the way you handled all this, and the lengths you went to to try to get Skye back. It's a shame she had to cancel all her performances, but you know how it is. Have a good New Year's Eve, alright? I'll see you back at the office in a few days, but I hope to see you tonight — this is, in fact, the culmination of all of our hard work!"
A frown turned Massie's lips down, and she ran a hand through her tangled hair. "How — didn't Skye bail?"
Griffin shuffled some papers on the other end; she could hear him rummaging about his office. "Everything works out in the end, Massie. You'll see."
He hung up before she could even think of getting another word in edgewise, leaving her sitting on her bed in a dazed state of confusion — and then, it hit her. She wasn't fired. Not even a little bit.
Alicia popped her head into the room. "How'd it go? I heard no dramatic sobbing."
"I'm not fired," said Massie, still a bit out of it. "But it seems like everything's worked itself out, even though Skye's not performing, which is weird . . . there will be, like, fifteen to twenty minutes of dead air, and that's not going to look good for us or the television broadcast companies airing the festivities . . ."
"All that matters to me is you are not fired, which means you will be able to attend our annual NYC bar crawl," Alicia spoke, clapping twice in excitement. "It's starting at Kristen's club, and our dear friend should be there last I spoke to her." The Latina pursed her lips, looking Massie up and down. "And can you please change your shirt? It's ruining my whole life."
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3:45 PM
Massie changed her shirt.
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5:47 PM
The best thing about having a friend who owned a highly successful club was they never needed to make a reservation, or wait in line for hours. All Massie, Dylan, Claire, and Alicia had to do was greet the bouncer, meet Kristen inside, and all was well.
Half-off drinks, free shots . . . it was a pretty good deal. Kristen was the best.
The night moved on slowly at first, as it always did when drinking began. Alcohol burned on down their throats, caused goosebumps to rise on their arms, and they swore they would never drink again, which, of course, was a lie, as they were taking another tequila shot approximately three minutes after the initial complaining.
"I read the tabloids," Kristen told Massie, licking the salt off her wrist. "Crazy, huh?"
"Oh, yeah, crazy," agreed Massie, wrinkling her nose. Kristen downed the clear liquid in one go, quickly shoving a lime in her mouth to rid it of the taste. "But whatever, right? Everything happens for a reason, I guess."
Kristen quirked an eyebrow. "Last I heard you were going insane, Mass. What changed?" Something behind Massie had her looking over the brunette's head. "And, if you don't mind, would you care to fill me in on the details of you and that blonde cutie over there?"
Massie turned quickly — a bad idea as the alcohol in her stomach sloshed around and made her nauseous — and was face to face (actually, he was a few feet away) with the one of the many people she'd been avoiding over the past few days: number one popstar, Derrick Harrington.
He caught her eye and grinned, slapped Josh on the back, and made his way over.
To the bartender he said, "Whatever you have on draft's fine," and to Massie: "Long time no see."
All she could do was smile weakly. Kristen, on the other hand, smirked over the rim of her newly procured glass, and took her leave, making some excuse about hosting and whatnot. A real great friend that one was.
Derrick slid into her empty seat, leaned forward, and pressed his lips to her temple. "What Alicia said this morning had me worried, but you seem fine to me."
"Not so much fine as I am drunk, but." Massie shrugged. "What can you do?"
He surveyed her oddly for a couple of minutes. "No longer going crazy, then?" He took a rather long pull from his beer.
"Well, I am, but that's only because I'm always going crazy, but not so much as I was before." Massie felt itchy just looking at him; she hated famous people.
"Good to know," he said lightly. "Any clue as to what's happening with the lack of Skye and the fact that today is, in fact, New Year's? I checked my calendar twice just to be positive."
Massie signaled for the bartender to bring her another shot, didn't matter which kind. "Let's not talk about that," she replied. "All I know is I am not fired and I do not care what happens tonight. I'm tired of worrying about this dumb holiday."
"If you say so, dear," Derrick drawled, clinking his glass with her minuscule one.
She downed her shot and frowned, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. "Did you just call me dear?"
"I did indeed."
"Why?"
"Well, sometimes when people like each other, they call each other by these little pet names, you know? I'm not much of a 'babe' kind of guy, that's more Chris' territory, so . . ." Derrick drummed his fingers on the countertop, almost like a sort of nervous tick, but his eyes never left Massie's. "And despite all this nonsense and craziness that surrounds you, I'd like to continue to see you, if that's alright."
Massie refused to let it show how much those words pleased her — and how long it took her intoxicated brain to comprehend them. Derrick watched her, fingers tap-tap-tapping away, a more hurried and frenzied beat than before. Her hand shot out and she grabbed them, interlacing her digits with his. She looked up just in time to see him release a breath, looking all the more calm, cool, and collected.
"Are you always that nervous, Mr. Sold Out World Tour?"
"I like Boyband Member I Bumped Into much better than that," Derrick murmured, voice smooth and tantalizing. They were nose to nose now, and Massie could see every freckle on his perfect face. "And I'm only that nervous when I ask out pretty girls."
"Yeah?" she baited.
"More specifically," he started, bringing their intertwined fingers up to brush the hair out of her face, "when you're that pretty girl."
"Oh, I see. I am very intimidating."
"This I know, Crazy Girl Who Bumped Into Me And Thinks I Want To Steal Her Things."
Massie let out a rather irritating (in her opinion) giggle. "Still don't know why you took my phone."
"You dropped —" Derrick stopped mid-sentence, rethought his direction, and pressed his lips to her nose. "Maybe I just wanted to see you again."
"Well, here I am."
"Here you are," he breathed thoughtfully, and the twinkle in his eye made Massie's heart race. "I'm glad."
"Me too," she admitted.
He kissed her right there, and Massie was sure she heard someone high-five someone else.
(If she had to guess, it was Alicia and Chris.)
(And if you were wondering if she guessed correctly, she did.)
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6:45 PM
The rest of the night went as bar crawls typically go.
Low State followed the girls around on their little adventure — and Kristen and Josh were particularly enchanted with one another by the time the third bar came along — until Kemp drank one too many Long Island Iced Teas and decided it was best for him to bounce before things got ugly, and since the paparazzi figured out their plans for the night, it seemed like the best course of action. Of course, the rest of the band went with him, something about teamwork or "one for all and all for one!" as Josh was fond of saying.
That didn't stop the girls from continuing on with their fun, and the evening went on in a blur of shots, mixed drinks, and loud, pulsing music.
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8:00 PM
Drunk.
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9:37 PM
Drunker.
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10:11 PM
Drunkest.
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11:19 PM
"You said we were going home," whined Massie.
"We are," Claire said.
"I would much rather take the subway," Kristen complained, hugging her arms to her chest. The temperature must have dropped about twenty degrees since they left Riot, and despite her winter coat and the amount of numbing alcohol in her body, it was pretty damn cold.
"I think we would all like that, but there's no way the subways will get us anywhere on time," Alicia said. "Walking is much faster. My apartment is just a couple of blocks ahead."
Claire pushed herself onto her tiptoes, like her six inch heels weren't giving her enough height to begin with. "No, it's no—"
Alicia forced her bony elbow into her side, and Claire yelped. "Shut up," she hissed.
Massie stopped short and turned around. "Is everything okay?"
"Y-yeah." Claire rubbed at her smarting side, shooting Alicia a murderous glance. "Just slipped on some ice, thankfully Leesh was here to save me. Thanks, girl!" She slapped Alicia's shoulder with enough force to make her stumble.
"Not a problem." Alicia spoke through gritted teeth.
Dylan, who had been consistently texting on her phone for the entirety of their fifteen minute walk, looped her arm through Massie's and redirected her. "We're almost there," she trilled, "and then we can get some hot tea."
But, as Claire had begun to guess, they were not headed towards Alicia's apartment complex. In fact, they were headed away from it, and not even ten minutes later, they were coming up to Times Square, where a number of tourists and other silly people who wanted to watch the ball drop were waiting for midnight.
Their redheaded friend led the way, weaving in and out of a number of annoying people cheering and yelling. A small girl stopped Kristen to tell her she liked her shoes and the blonde smiled down at her, repaying the compliment and admiring her hair.
They heard this year's host's voice as he talked over the din, announcing that there were about thirty minutes or so left until the new year truly began, and then a familiar guitar riff began, and —
". . . this crown may be broken but it still fits like a glove . . ."
"Are they covering Skye right now?"
"No way."
Kristen cackled so loudly the couple in front of them turned around to glare.
" . . . you'll never knock me down — no, you'll never knock me down . . ."
Massie came to a crashing halt, reaching out to steady herself on the barriers separating the stage from the crowd. How they had gotten here she had no idea, but . . . here she was, and there they were.
The fuzziness of her gaze cleared and she was looking right at them, at Low State, as they performed the very song Skye Hamilton would've sung if she hadn't canceled her New Year's Eve performance.
"We just thought it would be funny if we did that song considering all the trouble Skye put the Times Square Alliance through this week," Chris announced, and, again, Kristen's cackle was impossible to miss. As was Alicia's. "Now, in honor of our favorite teen sensation, we'll be performing a song that many of you have speculated is about her . . ."
The cheering was deafening as 'Rescue Me' began with Cam's impressive drum solo, then accompanied by some sort of trumpet.
Massie whirled around to face her friends, her mouth hanging open, face flushed, and eyes slightly glassy. "What?"
Alicia was too busy jumping around to answer her, and Claire could only shrug, as she, too, seemed to have no idea.
"You see, sweet Massie," Dylan started, swinging her arm around her shoulders and bringing her close, "you're extremely stubborn and kind of annoying, if I'm being honest, and while you were having a fit these past two days about Skye and her rehabilitation, Leesh and I were fixing your little problem."
("This song is about Skye?" Kristen shouted to Alicia, who nodded whilst grooving out, arms waving in an almost embarrassing way if it had not been her that was doing it. "That's so funny, I love this song."
"Who doesn't?" Alicia agreed, letting out a loud whoop! when Chris's infamous high note ended.)
"It was easy, really," Dylan continued when Massie didn't say anything, just stared blankly. "You were, like, dying or something, and Derrick said that Low State would do it, seeing as they had no other plans . . . and all we had to do was get their manager to call Griffin and it worked out in the end."
"Wait a second . . ." Massie rubbed at her cold nose. "You guys knew I wasn't going to lose my job and you let me believe that I was for two days?!"
Dylan grinned sheepishly. "Well, yeah. Come on, don't look at me like that — your breakdowns are kind of funny. You just stay in bed in a blanket burrito. Classic."
Massie frowned, balled her hand up into a fist, and hit Dylan in the shoulder as hard as she could, which didn't really do much since the redhead's coat was very much padded. "You guys are so mean!"
"If it makes you feel better, we didn't tell Claire," Dylan said. "She can't keep a secret to save her life."
Claire shrugged. "It's true."
"Wait," Massie interjected again, "what about Kemp when he said —"
"A lie," Dylan waved off her question easily. "He and the others had maybe one or two drinks, I'd say. Water the rest of the time. They just used that excuse as a way to leave so they could make it to soundcheck without you getting suspicious."
The brunette stomped her foot childishly. "Why did no one tell me?!"
"This reaction is great," Dylan answered, "and surprises are great. Don't you like it?"
Massie turned around, intently staring at the band and the crowd's reactions. From here, she could also see Griffin, standing with a few of the others who worked with her. Despite Skye's absence and the havoc it wreaked on her all week, things had actually turned out for the best.
"I love it," she said, and she let herself, for the first time all week, fully relax.
The new year was about fifteen minutes away now, Low State was on their third song, and everyone was having a good time. Derrick caught her eye and winked as his solo started up, and his voice turned her to jelly. It didn't help a bit that it felt as if he were singing directly to her.
( . . . I'll pick you up at 8 and we can drive around, take you to the beach and we can head downtown while you hold my hand . . .)
Everything works out in the end, Griffin told her all those hours ago. She had no idea how right he'd been.
( . . . we'll park it, lay down on the hood of my car, listen to the airplanes as we count the stars . . . tonight I'll be your man, and tomorrow we can do it again . . .)
fin.