I didn’t know what else I could do. And then I had an idea. It would mean breaking things wide open. It was risky. It constituted an invasion of her privacy. She’d be angry with me—beyond angry. She may never talk to me again, if I did this. Yet, I felt I had to take that chance—that if I didn’t bring things to a head, we’d never have a future together.
I unplugged my phone, grabbed the bottle of whiskey she’d gotten me, cracked the top and took a slug. I was still wide awake after our concert tonight, so I took the bottle and my phone out on the balcony and closed the door behind me. Sitting on a chair, I got comfortable and brought up the video of Lexie I took a couple weeks ago in Tokyo.
I watched it…again. For the tenth or twentieth time.
Goddamn, she’s good. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if I posted this to my socials, it would go viral. Millions of views in a matter of hours. She’s gorgeous. Her voice is haunting. It’s a hypnotic, mesmerizing video.
Pure talent. Pure unadulterated star power, raw and unpolished.
I uploaded it to my socials. I hesitated.
I could lose her over this.
But I was losing her anyway.
She deserved her time in the sun—and the world deserved her music.
She was too afraid of…of fucking everything to put herself out there.
This video—more than her appearance on the Myles & Crow album, more than the other videos, even more than her encore with me in Tokyo—would put her on the map.
I turned to look at her. Sleeping in my bed. Our bed. A hotel bed. Arm across her face, an empty wine bottle on the bedside table.
I had to shake her out of this.
This was the only way I knew.
I hit the publish button.
In a matter of minutes, she’s on my socials, pinned to the top of my website. It’s out there.
No going back now.
Lexie
We were on the plane from Prague to Oslo and I finally, begrudgingly, went through the eight billion notifications on my phone. Calls from Mom, Charlie, and Cassie. Emails from Torie which I flagged and set aside for later because Torie was a mess I didn’t have the energy to deal with right now. A voicemail from Poppy:
“Hey Lex. Just, you know, checking in. Miss you, girl. I’m, um, thinking pretty seriously about finally dropping out and moving to Alaska to focus on art full-time. Mom says Eva du Maurier lives there, and she’s one of my art idols, so maybe I could get some pointers or something.” A pause. “I saw your video. And, damn Lex, that was some ballsy shit. How you have the courage to put something like that out there, I’ll never know. But for real, I had no clue you’re so damn talented. I remember hearing you sing in your room a lot, but that video…damn. It’s on a whole other level. Anyway, I miss you; hope to talk to you soon. Bye.”
Video?
What video?
Then I checked the text messages from Mom and the girls in Ketchikan.
Mom: Why didn’t you tell me about the video? You’re amazing, Lex. A little risque, perhaps, but amazing. It has so many views already!
Charlie: OMFG!!! LEX! The video. Call me!
Cassie: Holy motherfucking shit, Alexandra. You have the biggest ovaries ever, girl. I can NOT believe you let Myles take and post that. Everyone is talking about it—everyone. You’re blowing up, Lex. Big time.
I opened Twitter. My account suddenly had a blue check, my follower count was in the millions, and I had more comments and retweets and tags and shares than I’d ever seen.
And there, at the top, was the video in question. I played it, and I dropped the phone on the table in front of me, hand over my mouth, heart stopped.
It was me.
On the balcony in Tokyo. Naked, wearing not a stitch except the guitar. You couldn’t see much, given that it was dark and the only light on me is ambient city glow and my bits were covered by the guitar. But it was obvious I’m naked in the video, and it was provocative, sexy. My leg was propped up on the rail, and I was leaning back in the chair, head tipped back, eyes closed. Plucking that lullaby I wrote for myself. Singing the wordless song.
It was the most haunting thing I’d ever heard, and it was hard to believe it was me.
I checked it on YouTube: less than twenty-four hours and it had over seventy million views.
My head spun.
It was posted under Myles North, the official, verified artist account. Yesterday…or this morning, early.
I looked up, and Myles was watching me. Zan, Brand, and Jupiter were huddled together on the couch, watching something on Jupiter’s iPad, laughing as if it’s inappropriate. Not the video, then. And studiously acting like they have no idea what’s going on over here.
“How—fucking—dare you,” I hissed. “You had no right to record that, and even less right to fucking post it for the world!”
He looked…sad. He knew this was coming. He knew exactly what he was doing.
“Why?” I snarled. “Tell me that. Why? The truth.”
“Because you won’t. You won’t play. You won’t try. You’re too scared. And you’re too fucking
