At least Sienna didn’t say anything about our hook up.
When I took my position back at the mic, I looked back over at Zoey, but she wasn’t paying attention. I managed to finish our encore to thunderous applause before running off stage, but my earlier mood of elation had been replaced with anxiety. And guilt.
Somewhat oblivious of the drama, Zane and Connor ran ahead toward the dressing room whooping it up, pumping fists, sweat flying everywhere. Jace fell into step behind me as I approached Zoey.
“Z—”
“No.” Her face was a stone mask. “We can’t talk here.”
I reached for her hand, which she ignored, instead directing a question at Jace. “Do you know about the article?”
“No, what article?” He looked genuinely perplexed.
Zoey fought back tears. “It’s really bad.”
“Fuck.” Jace punched his hand.
“Zoey, what is going on?” I reached for her, but she shied away.
“Not here,” she hissed.
“Zoey, don’t make it worse. You’re going to have to get used to people saying a bunch of fucked-up lies about Ty, me, the guys, and now you. Unfortunately, it’s part of all of this.” Jace whispered loud enough so that only we could hear him. “I can and will handle the press. If you could try not to add to the fucking drama in front of our crew, that would be great.”
Zoey and I stared after Jace when he stalked off without another look. Road crew was busy breaking down the stage and loading out gear all around us, averting their eyes. After my initial few seconds of being stunned at the way Jace talked to Zoey, steam came out of my ears.
“Hey, you asswipe. Don’t you fucking talk to her that way!” I started after him.
“It’s okay, Ty. He’s right, please do not make a scene.” Zoey grabbed my arm to stop me.
“He can’t speak to you like that,” I grumbled.
“Can we just get to somewhere private. Please?”
I nodded. Silently we made our way through all the crew activity down the ramps into the backstage area. A few fans spotted us and cheered and chanted my name. They also started chanting Zoey’s name. I took her hand and she let me, but we kept going. Once we reached the dressing room, Zoey fell apart.
“What happened.” I knelt down in front of her, placing my hands on her outer thighs. “Talk to me.”
“You should just read it.” With tears streaming down her face, Zoey frantically dug out her reader and pulled up the TMZ website where her picture was front and center with the headline Zoey Uncovered: Ty’s Crazy Stalker Bitch. I read the article, my blood simmered and then boiled over by the time I was done.
The basic premise of the story was Zoey was an underage Lolita who seduced me to fall in love with her only to have an affair with Carter and dump me, which lead to the release of Z. She stalked me for years despite having a boyfriend, which sent me further into a downward spiral leading to abusing booze and sex just to cope. Miraculously, I recovered. Just when I turned my life around and found happiness with Ronni, after she had affairs with two men at her law firm, she managed to worm her way into a role in my non-profit. Which is why Ronni and I broke up. Now under her spell again, not only was I quitting LTZ to be with her, but she refused to marry me unless I ripped up the prenup, deeded my houses to her, and gave her the CEO job at the foundation.
Clearly, it was ridiculous and almost comical. But Zoey didn’t know that. All she could focus on was the horrible assassination of her character. I knew that this type of shit would usually blow over in a day or two.
The problem was, I’d been in the game long enough under the guidance of shrewd publicists to know when a fake story had been fed to TMZ. This went one step further. This felt planned. Personal. The only people outside of me, Zoey, Carter, her parents, and the band who knew about her role in the foundation were Sienna and Andrew. The tabloid had displayed old pictures of us making out at the recording studio that had been removed from our social years ago, which Andrew and Sienna also had access to. The rest of the story was a laundry list of shit. Unflattering pictures of her from God knows where? Check. Requisite quotes and interviews with people who claimed to know her well? Check. Wholly made up facts? Check. Snippets from women I didn’t know claiming to have slept with me? Check.
The other distressing part of the article was an appearance from my long-lost mother, whom Zoey had never met. Mom helpfully provided a very fictionalized portrait of me and a timeline of my early relationship with Zoey. Her quote about Zoey being a crazy, stalker bitch was where they culled the headline of the article. I was more surprised that it had taken her so long to sell me out for money than I was at the quote itself.
“Oh, butterfly. What the fuck.” I collapsed down next to her.
“So, it’s as bad as I thought.”
“It’s all a crock of shit, which I should be fucking used to by now, but I’m so sorry.” I put my arm around the back of the chair to stroke her hair. “You don’t deserve any of this.”
Something was really off about the piece, and I needed to get to the bottom of it.
Zoey’s eyes welled with tears. “I think I want to go back to the hotel.”
“I’ll go with you.”
She didn’t respond, just tucked up into a ball with her head on my shoulder.
“Z, let me take a shower, and then we’ll get you out of here. We can skip the after-party.” I stood and gave her a quick kiss. “Will you be okay for five minutes?”
“Yeah.”
After
