Behind the Lyrics by Melissa Riddell
Chapter 28
Viktor Farrow
At the airport, several fans spotted me, and a bit of a ruckus stirred. Clive, Andy, and Stu kept me in their inner circle of bodies. Alan, Justin, and the rest of my bandmates took time to pose for selfies or autograph whatever piece of paper a person could come up with. In one case, Justin signed a woman’s ample cleavage, a shit-eating grin lighting his face.
I should’ve been happy my new band was getting exposure and people were excited. I would normally spend time with the fans and maybe even leave a calling card for those special women I fancied.
Today? I only wanted to board the plane and get the fuck out of the country. Knowing how close I was to Angela, and not being able to see or touch her, the torture was a hand reaching inside my chest and ripping my goddamn heart to shreds. How is this even possible? We only shared kisses. Her soft cries and moans as I’d dipped my finger between her thighs caused me to smile. Well, mostly kisses.
It would have been more if fucking Justin hadn’t interrupted me in the studio…
I knew why it hurt so fucking much, though, even if it didn’t make a lot of sense. I’d shared the source of all my woes with my personal little angel then she’d offered up her own agony, and we’d connected. That night on the couch, as she and I sat on opposite ends of the universe, with an intimate exchange of secrets, a black hole opened and sucked us into each other—bonding her to me in a way no one else had ever been able to do, except for maybe James.
“Good evening, Mr. Farrow.” A stewardess, her tight little uniform emphasizing her curves, waited at the top of the steps leading to the private jet. “I hope you have a lovely flight.”
“Thanks, I’m sure I will.” I brushed past her and took a seat at the small table in the middle of the plane. The record company spared no expense when it came to our comfort. Cherrywood-paneled walls lined the inside, and two couches completed the back, near the bathroom. Each area had its own telly. A mini fridge, stocked with anything from water and juice to alcohol, sat under the table.
I bent and tugged the fridge door open. Several complimentary bottles of Jack Daniels lined a shelf. I stretched my fingers toward the neck of one. For the first time in years, a deep, dark, pulsing need came over me—not just temptation, but a pounding ache. God, it would be good to numb myself for a little while. Angela’s story of what happened to her that night with her husband stayed my hand.
No, I’ve maintained control this long. Can’t give in to the demon now.
Instead, I shifted my grasp to the flavored, exotic water on the upper shelf and slammed the door.
After a long swig, I set the bottle down and dug a finger into my pocket to caress the cold, hard edge of metal. Releasing a pent-up breath, I glanced out the window and watched the rest of the band amble onto the tarmac. They seemed so carefree and happy.
I used to be like that.
For a couple of days, I’d felt the beginnings of contentment when I’d been in Angela’s presence. Even if I’d been destitute and a nobody, it wouldn’t have mattered with her at my side and mine.
The tour was eight weeks long, with four touring Europe, then the other half in the Americas. Maybe two months would be enough distance for her to decide if I was worth the risk.
Wait? Why am I contemplating this shit? What happened to OAS?
Somehow, my grand scheme to get back at the little angel and show my dominance fell by the wayside. I no longer cared about making her pay because, in some ways, she’d been correct when we’d first met. My music might still be popular, but a has-been I was. The man who wrote and sang those songs fifteen years ago was not the man I’d become.
Maybe this album and tour wasn’t so much a comeback, but a redemption, as we’d discussed that night in my room.
I leaned into the plush leather and chewed on the inside of my cheek. I fancy the sound of that—redemption.
Justin tramped in. “Hey, mate.” He smacked me on the shoulder. “Why so glum? Missing your hot piece from the other night?”
“No.” My response was quick and agitated. “Just ready to get back home and work, that’s all.”
He slid into the chair in front of me, across the table. “Sure.” A grin tipped a corner of his mouth, and his green eyes sparkled. “I believe you one hundred percent.” He snickered.
Ignoring him, I grabbed my mobile to switch it off. A message popped up.
Fumbling with the passcode, I unlocked the screen and loaded the messages. The text was from Angela. My breaths came rapidly, and adrenaline coursed through my veins. Is she okay, or is she letting me know it’s over before even giving us a shot?
Angel: Hi. Hope this isn’t a bad time.
Me: It’s never a bad time when it’s you.
There, that didn’t sound too desperate, did it?
Angel: I just…
Angel: I just wanted to let you know I’ve missed you, too. I still need time, but I don’t want to lose contact, if that’s okay. Maybe we can be friends first and see where it goes?
The motherfucking friend spiel. Adrenaline turned to ice in my veins. I didn’t want to be her fucking friend. I wanted to be her lover, her universe, her goddamn everything.
I typed that into the messenger app. My finger hovered over the Send button. If she received it, though, would it put her over the edge to fly away and never return?
What the hell happened to my balls? I sounded like a mopey, emotionally wrecked sap. Might as well have cut them off, wrapped as a gift, and then placed the package into her soft little hands.
Sighing, I backspaced the entire message. Why was it so easy for me to write my feelings in a song, yet impossible in a text?
Angel: You still there?
Me: I’m here. I don’t know if I can do friends.
I gripped the phone and closed my eyes, willing my irritation to not take over. I could do friends, but not forever. She felt the same thing for me, I knew she did, yet I had to make the decision to give her what she wanted.
Waxing my dick wouldn’t have hurt as much as what I knew I needed to say. Not that I’d ever tried it before, the waxing.
Me: We’re about to take off, so I’ll be out of touch until I land. Take the time, Angel, but know this: I don’t give up anything without a fight, whether it be addictions, guilt, or the people I care about. So, when I get back to the States, you and I are going to have a little chit-chat about exactly what we want and expect from each other, and I don’t mean with our “friendship.”
There. I said it without having to come right out and say it.
Angel: Now you just sound like an arrogant, Angry God…
Me: Four weeks until I return, Love. Then it’s just you and me. XX
Angel: Goodbye, Viktor.
Me: Goodbye for now, Angel. See you soon.