Aimee and the Heartthrob (18 page)

She needed to get it off her chest, so she just blurted it out. “He told me about the extension in the fall, going to South America, which I knew couldn’t be true because you told me you were coming home. You told me that, Miles. But then I thought maybe this was a new tour you didn’t know about, but LJ said it’s been on the calendar for months. You knew you’d be leaving—to
South America
—even when you told me you were coming home. You asked me to Homecoming. Why?”

Tears burned her eyes. She hadn’t wanted to cry in front of him, and thought if she stayed mad that would keep the tears away. But once they started, her heart began to crumble like a brick being walloped with a sledgehammer.

When she looked to Miles through stinging, wet eyes, he was looking the other way, a hand up, massaging the back of his neck. Had he even heard what she’d said? “Miles, why would you tell me that?”

He shrugged. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Another swing of the sledgehammer. “Come on.” Her voice was shaky, losing fortitude. “Please don’t lie to my face.”

Finally, he dropped his hand and glanced at her. “I could say the same thing.” He was shaking his head and looking just to the side of her, a stony, detached expression on his face. “I saw your blog, Aimee.”

“And?”

His mouth fell open like he was beyond shocked. “And?” he echoed, sarcasm in his voice. “I
read
it.”

She had no idea why her blog would make him so furious. All she did was review books and music and the odd new teen hangout in Pacific Palisades. Sure, she and Becky could be huge dorks sometimes when they were vlogging, but it wasn’t like they were gunning for an Oscar.

“If you’re upset that I haven’t reviewed S2J yet, I told you I’m going to.”

He laughed, but it was a dark laugh. “Yeah, don’t you think you’ve
reviewed
me enough?”

“What?”

“I can’t believe it. No wait, what sucks is that I
can
believe it, because it happened before. I guess I should be grateful you can’t review how I was in bed. Or is writing about sex where you draw the line?”

“Sex?” A boulder dropped in her stomach. “You’re mad because I didn’t sleep with you last night?” A wave of nausea swept up the boulder and swirled it around like a whirlpool. “You’re the one who said we weren’t ready. I agreed, but—”

“No, Aimee. I meant that I dodged a bullet by not sleeping with you. Though what you write in your blog is so creative you’ll probably say we did it, anyway.”

Her mind whirred in confusion, making it too hard to think. “What are you talking about?”

“You used me, and it’s frickin’ unbelievable that I didn’t see it coming.”

“How did I use you?”

“
Mrs. Wife-of-a-Popstar
? Ring any bells?”

As realization hit, Aimee’s already woozy stomach spun and crashed to the floor. “What?” Her voice came out in a breathy whisper, like her own throat was trying to strangle her.

“I saw the pictures, the pages, the topics. Shit, Aimee. Trevin found it first. I’m totally humiliated—
you
humiliated me.”

This wasn’t happening. How had he found it? “I shut that blog down. It wasn’t real. I was just…I was…”

He stepped back from her, holding his hands out of reach. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Miles, it was a joke—”

“So I’m a joke?” He scoffed. “I’m not completely isolated. I know what people say about being in a
boy band
. But
you
think I’m a joke?” For a split second, the angry expression on his face broke and he looked truly gutted. “I trusted you…with everything. I told you things no one else knows but my mum.”

“I would never say anything to anyone about that.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because it’s the truth.” She stomped her foot, needing him to hear her. “I’ve always told you the truth, even when it embarrassed the hell out of me.”

He shook his head. “I should’ve followed my gut and stayed the hell away from you. Everyone warned me—everyone. LJ told me to stay single. My image is
The
Heartthrob
, I’m
every
girl’s boyfriend, and as lameass as that is, it’s way better than dealing with this bullshit.” He raked his fingers through his hair and looked the other way. “Don’t get attached, Miles, don’t commit, don’t fall in love. But I didn’t listen.”

Aimee’s heart crashed against her ribs. Love? Her world was spinning out of control and wouldn’t stop. Pieces of Miles—
her
Miles—were flying through the air and she couldn’t grab them before they disappeared.

“Those things you wrote about me, Aimee. I don’t…” He tipped his chin and laughed bitterly. The harsh sound made the hair on her arms stand up. “I can’t wrap my brain around it. It’s crueler than what Kelly or Paige did, because I thought you were different. I thought I knew you.”

“You do,” she whimpered, her throat thick with panic.

“You know what—I can’t do this again. I hate drama. I’m out.”

She stood in front of him, blocking his way. “So that’s it? You’re gonna stay pissed off and not listen to me? And you won’t even own up that
you
lied to
me
?”

He shrugged, looking stony and apathetic again. If he ever had feelings for her, they were gone. He didn’t care. “I’m done with this,” he said coldly. “So done.”

She exhaled out her nose. “Then you
are
an assjacket, Miles Carlisle. And I never want to see you again—you or your
stupid
band.”

Tears burst from her eyes as she ran away. He didn’t come after her. Not that she expected him to after the hurtful things he’d said. She’d ruined everything because of a childish, obsessive crush that wasn’t even real.

Instead of asking Becky to delete it, she should’ve hired the most expensive tech in the world to make sure there was no trace of that ridiculous fanfiction blog. And now, Miles hated her, wouldn’t even hear her out or cop to what
he’d
done—the assjacket—and there was nothing she could do about it.

Chapter Seventeen

Miles was in a major craptastic mood the next two days. He kept cocking up onstage, barking at roadies. Although getting yelled at by Lester for being late cheered him up some, nothing took away the pain—the storm cloud of betrayal that followed him everywhere.

When Trev tried to talk to him, he shut him out. Talking wouldn’t help. He needed to forget about Aimee Bingham and get on with his life, praying that
TMZ
wouldn’t happen upon that twisted blog.

“What’s with the attitude, Miles?” Nate asked, as the guys sat backstage at an early morning news station. He hadn’t slept all night, couldn’t think of the last time he’d eaten, and was teetering right on the brink of Bruce Banner.

“There’s no attitude,” he said, staring down at his hands.

“Are you sick? Some of the techs have the flu.”

“I’m fine,” he muttered. “Lay off, baby brother.”

“Have you seen yourself lately? Or heard yourself?” Nate asked, not letting it go. Jeez, he could be a pest. “You look and sound like crap on a plate.”

“So what?”

“So what?” Trevin chimed in. “You’re dragging the whole group down by being a dickhead, and everyone knows why.”

Miles looked up, rage burning hot behind his eyes as he glared at Trevin. “
What
do they know?”

Trevin shook his head. “Dude, chill. They know you were with Aimee and now you’re not.
That’s
what they know.”

Miles nodded and looked away. Well, at least they didn’t know about the blog, or all the crap Aimee wrote, or the other ten thousand promises she broke. After two days, his chest still killed when he thought about it. How had he let this girl get under his skin so quickly? In barely a week? Or had she been there much longer than that, but Miles hadn’t realized it?

No, he couldn’t think that way. It did no good to remember why he’d thought she was different, and the perfect girl for him in every way, the most perfect girl in the entire world.

“Sounds like someone’s pissed ’cause he failed to tap that thing,” Ryder said.

Miles wouldn’t let Ryder get to him, so he ignored the comment and stared at the palms of his hands.

“Don’t go there, dude,” Trevin said.

Ryder laughed. “Why not? Just because Mr. Bean over there didn’t have the balls to get a piece.” Miles blew a stream of air out his nose, trying not to lose it, gripping closed the rip in his skin where the Hulk was clawing to get out. “Last time I saw her, she was hanging by the coat closet, wearing one of those little dresses. She might look innocent, but her dress says,
Come and get me, Ryd
—”

Miles flew to his feet and had Ryder by the front of his shirt.
“Brooks,”
he growled in his face, slamming his back against the wall. Hard. “Never talk about her like that.”

“Miles, don’t,” Trevin said. Both he and Nate were on either side of him, trying to pull him off. But nothing could stop him now. He was the green monster. His worst enemy.

“If you so much as touch her,” Miles spat, “I will flatten you.” He tightened his grip, close enough to note Ryder’s hazel eyes were bloodshot. “Do you understand me?” He slammed him against the wall again, harder, hearing Ryder’s breath knock out.

Trevin had him from behind now, one arm across his chest, the other around his neck, dragging him back, while Nate and Will wedged themselves between him and Ryder.

“You seriously need to back off,” Ryder said, looking indignant, straightening his shirt.

“And you need to stay the hell out of my face.”

“We all need to settle down,” Trevin said, still holding Miles from behind, tightening his sleeper hold when he tried to break free. “We’re on frickin’ live TV in ten minutes. Everyone take a breath.”

“Fine,” Miles muttered, struggling to suck in oxygen. “Let go.”

“Will you cool it?” Trevin’s arm squeezed around his throat.

“Not with
dumbass
in the room.” He glared at Ryder.

“Ryder is not going to talk to Aimee,” Trevin said. “Isn’t that right?”

Brooks rolled his eyes and didn’t reply.

“Want me to let him loose?” Trevin asked, slackening his grip around Miles for just a second, making Ryder take a step back. But then Trevin’s arms tightened again.

“Fine,” Ryder muttered. “I won’t talk to your precious flower.”

“You won’t
look
at her,” Miles said. “Or
think
about her, or go within ten feet of her.”

“Yes, fine, whatever.”

“Okay?” Trevin said. “Ryder will not look, think, or walk near Aimee. In return, Miles promises to not throw Ryder through the wall.”

Ryder nodded, his long hair covering his eyes, and Miles grunted an agreement.

A moment later, when he was released, Miles spun around, about to throw Trevin through the wall. But luckily, he stopped himself before he could do anything he regretted. Anything
more
he regretted.

He blew a breath out his nose, walked to a corner of the room, and bent in half, bracing his hands on his knees.
Just breathe
. He needed to get a grip before he lost it again. He had no beef with Trev, yet he’d wanted to beat him to a pulp, too. Just for trying to help.

What was wrong with him?

He exhaled long and deep, leaning the top of his head against the wall, staring down at the floor, waiting for blood to rush to his brain. He heard LJ enter the room, giving them the ten-minute warning. Miles turned and lowered into a squat, bracing his back against the wall.

When he looked up, all four guys were staring at him.

He felt twelve years old again, like that cornered, angry kid with the short fuse, who didn’t fit in, didn’t trust anyone, no friends. Scared to death.

But he wasn’t that kid anymore. He’d scratched and worked and fought his way to a better life. But he hadn’t done that alone, he’d had help. He’d had his bandmates—his four brothers. And before them, he’d had Mum, Nick, the whole Bingham family…

He slammed his eyes shut, trying desperately to block out the incoming avalanche of pain.

How the hell could he miss her? How the hell could he sit here, knowing everything she’d done, and ache for her with every bone in his body? With his next breath, he knew exactly why.

Because he was in love with her.

He dropped his face into his hands. It was burning hot, and he felt moisture. Tears. Angry, pathetic tears.

“I don’t think you should go on the air with us, bro.” Trevin was crouched in front of him. “We’ll make an excuse.”

Miles could only nod as he sank onto the floor, head in his hands.

Before today, he’d never missed any live public appearance, and he’d never, ever totally come unglued with the guys.

If there were a rock bottom, he’d just hit it.

…

“Mom, please.” Aimee sniveled. “Please get me off this bus. I can’t stand it.”

The long distance line crackled. “Kiddo, we can’t. Just hang on for another week. By the time the tour loops back west, Grandma will be home.”

“A
week
?” It might as well have been a year!

Heads turned her way, curious about the shriek in her voice. But she didn’t care anymore. If everyone aboard
Hanging On
thought she was a weirdo before, they surely thought she was a complete whack job now.

“Mom, you have no idea how awful this is.”

“I thought you were having a good time. Three days ago, you said it was amazing.”

“Yeah.” She switched to the other ear. “Well, things changed.”

“What things, hon?”

But she couldn’t bring herself to say it aloud.

“Just trust me,” she said, wiping her wet cheeks. “It isn’t all fun and games hanging out with a pop band. Nothing’s as squeaky clean as it seems.”

“Ames,” Mom said. “What happened? Do I need to call Marsha? Should we pull Nick out, too?”

“No, don’t bother anyone else. It’s just me.” Her voice broke. “I messed up and I need to go home. Please.”

“Oh, honey, I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

She sniveled. “Guess again.”

“Look, I have to talk to your father and we’ll need to make some calls.” Aimee heard the shuffling of papers on the other end. “Looks like you’ll be in Dallas on Saturday. Aunt Mary lives there. Do you want to stay with her?”

It was like a tiny fraction of the huge weight on her chest lifted. “Yes, please. Please, Mom!”

“Okay. We’ll make the arrangements tonight with Marsha, and I’ll have Mary call you so you can arrange to meet.”

Aimee could only nod and press a fist over her mouth so she wouldn’t sob directly into the phone. After hanging up, she sat on the floor at the back of the bus and called Becky. The second she heard her best friend’s voice, she started to bawl.

“Ames? What’s wrong?”

All she could do was blubber out Miles’s name.

“Did he hurt you again? I swear, I’m gonna ream that guy on Twitter tonight.”

This made Aimee cry harder, but after a few huge breaths, she sobbed out what had happened—everything, right down to last night in his bunk. “And now he’s completely pissed at me, accused me of lying when he’s the one who lied to me.”

“What a jerk,” Becky snapped. “But I don’t get why he’s mad. What’s wrong with our vlog?”

“It’s not that.” She sniveled. “He found
my
blog from before. I don’t know how, but I guess, even after you deleted it or whatever, nothing is ever really
gone
from the internet, right? Everything is stored in the cloud, whatever that means.”

“Oh, shit,” Becky whispered.

“I know. He totally freaked out. I mean, I can’t blame him because, out of context, the stuff on there is pretty bad, but he wouldn’t even let me explain.”

“Aimee, I…dammit. I didn’t delete it.”

“What?”

“Well, I thought your blog was amazing, all the work you did, the fanfic and stuff. And, I don’t know, I always hoped you and Miles would get together someday, so I couldn’t bear to delete the whole thing. It’s too…romantic.”

“Romantic?” Aimee sat up straight and pushed back her hair. “Becky, he thinks I’m a stalker. You promised you erased it two years ago.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I swear, I hid the link way down in my celeb gossip tab, I didn’t think anyone would find it. I’m really sorry. Seriously. I feel ratchet.”

Aimee wanted to laugh, and then she wanted to say the worst things in the world to her best friend then hang up and never speak to her again. But really, it wasn’t all Becky’s fault. If Aimee had come clean to Miles about her blog in the first place, none of this would’ve happened.

“Ames?” Becky’s voice was quiet. “I’m so sorry. I wish I was dead.”

New tears trickled down Aimee’s cheeks as she clenched her jaw. “Yeah.”

“Are you so pissed at me?”

“Yes,” she snapped, but choked on a laugh afterward. Knowing how it had happened made her feel worse and even more hopeless, but at least it made sense now. “But I forgive you.” Her throat was almost too thick to speak. “I gotta go.”

“No, don’t hang up. Talk to me. Tell me what I can do.”

Aimee pressed her lips together to hold in another sob. “There’s nothing anyone can do. It’s over.”

…

Nick called her cell twice, wanting to meet up for dinner before the show. But Aimee couldn’t stomach that. With back-to-back concerts in Austin and Dallas, she figured she could dodge her brother until the day she left. She hadn’t planned on being seized the second the caravan pulled up to the Austin Hyatt.

“Aimee.” Nick stood at the front of her bus, while the rest of the passengers slid by to exit. “So you’re alive.”

“Huh?”

“I haven’t seen you in four days, and the last two you weren’t answering your phone or returning my calls.” He waved to a girl about to exit. “If I didn’t have spies, I’d think you ran away.”

“Nope.” She lifted her best smile. “Still here. Still alive.”

“Mom called a while ago. She said you’re staying with Aunt Mary when we get to Dallas.”

“Yeah.”

“Why? Too much free world travel on S2J’s dime?”

“This was never where I wanted to be, Nick. This is
your
thing. I wasn’t even supposed to be here.” Her throat was suddenly thick. “I’m just tagging along like usual.”

“What?”

She shut her eyes, not about to cry in front of her brother, so tired of crying in general. “Never mind.”

“No. I won’t
never mind
. Is it girl stuff?”

She huffed. “You would say that.”

“Then what’s wrong?” He moved to a bench seat. “Sit down.”

She swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth. “Shouldn’t you be setting up with the roadies?”

“They won’t miss the intern.” He patted the seat. Aimee hedged for another minute, then gave in and sat. “Mom thinks something happened to you.”

“Nothing happened, I’m just”—she shrugged a shoulder—“sad.”

“Why? Did that dick Ryder hit on you? Aimee, he hits on anything that moves. It’s common knowledge.”

She looked up, almost wanting to laugh. “No, Ryder didn’t do anything.”

“Did one of the other guys? Miles?”

The question caught her off guard. How had Nick made the leap so quickly? As far as he should’ve been concerned, she and Miles hadn’t spent one second alone. She made tight fists, digging her nails into her palms.

“No,” she whispered, hoping to mask the deceptive quiver in her voice, “Miles didn’t do anything.”

“Good, ’cause I know he was thinking about it. But he’s a player, Ames. You know his reputation—”

“Miles is a lot of things, but he’s not a
player
,” she cut in, surprised at the volume of her voice. “It’s all for publicity. Anyone who really knows him can see he’s a good guy—a great guy.”

Nick blinked at her. “How well do
you
know him?”

Fresh tears clogged her throat as she remembered the lies. “Not as well as I thought,” she admitted, being as honest as she could without telling him the whole thing.

“Okay.” He tilted his chin, locking her in his gaze. He was starting to look so much like their father…reminding her of Dad and Mom and home and…and Miles. Suddenly, a tidal wave of sadness crashed over her head. In about five seconds, the waterworks would start.