{ three shot }
- three people in the frame
There's something about the Pittsburgh sunshine that churns my stomach like a pot of cream. The post-Winter chill leaves the crisp air dry, the wind biting onto my nose as I carry my suitcase through the parking lot.
Apparently, everyone's arrived back early from break, snatching all the good parking spots before I even left the state of California.
I step through the front door of my building, the heat enveloping me like a warm blanket as I drag my feet toward the stairs. My feet work on autopilot as they carry me to my door, and I fumble with my keys, wishing that Cora wasn't too paranoid about leaving the door unlocked---even for a few minutes from when I texted her from the parking lot.
As soon as I'm inside, I toss my suitcase to the side and shut the door, pressing my back against the hardwood. Closing my eyes, I inhale the hints of vanilla swirling in the air from Cora's wax melter. It smells like home---and it is home---but it doesn't feel like home.
Which is absolutely crazy.
I've known Lennon for two weeks. Fourteen days. And now there's a three hour time difference and three-thousand miles between us. And all I can think about is when I'll see him again. All I want is to be lounging in his bed, surrounded by his scent, listening as he strums random chords on his guitar while I watch, fascinated by the passion he still has for something he does everyday. And knowing I want that for myself one day.
Things were ... tense when I left for the airport. Graham nodded at me, telling me that it was nice meeting me and to have safe travels home because, apparently, there was a huge snow storm back East. I'm not sure where he got that information, as all the snow had melted where I lived, but it was nice to know I cracked through his hard interior a little bit that he didn't want my plane to crash on my flight home.
Presley gave me a quick hug, promising to stay in touch and that she can't wait to see the final product of the interview we did.
Milo hugged me tight, whispering promises to continue to stay in touch and that he hopes to stop by when they perform in Pittsburgh.
Logan demanded I venmo the money for his lamp, before breaking into a huge grin and sucking me into his arms. I can still feel his hot breath as he whispered into my ear, "Don't hurt our boy."
Maia cried, but I knew we were in a much better place than when I arrived in Los Angeles. And I knew if we hadn't had our girls night, our goodbyes would've looked a lot differently. We might have hugged, but barely long enough for it to even count. I can still clearly see Milo's raised eyebrows over his sister's shoulder, a soft smile tugging at his lips at our reconciliation.
Maia and I came to a mutual understanding last night, and we both grasped onto a concept we thought was impossible. We can still be close friends—despite the distance and despite not communicating with each other every day, and it doesn't have to change our camaraderie. We might not be each other's number one, or that one that'll stand directly by our side when we get married one day; we might be a little ways down the line—and that's okay.
It's okay to be scared of change, but holding onto something that needs letting go will only cause more pain in the long run.
Saying goodbye to Lennon ... he tried his best to not let that little anger he still held toward me show while wishing me a safe flight. I messaged him when I landed, and I knew he was rehearsing with Logan so I didn't expect a response anytime soon. But just seconds after it was delivered, a message from him rang through.
And it might have sewed together a piece of my heart at the thought that everything will be all right between us after all.
"Reese? Is that you?" Cora calls from her bedroom, her door flinging open before I got a chance to answer.
I nod, pushing myself away from the door. "Yeah."
My best friend's smiling face greets me as she jogs across the carpeted floor, throwing her arms around me and slamming me back into the door. Unshed tears prick at my eyes as I squeeze her back, inhaling her sweet strawberry shampoo. Cora pulls back, keeping her hands on my shoulders as she scans my face. Winged eyeliner highlights her dark brown eyes, and a rosy pink blush and sparkly highlighter complements her dark complexion. Despite having classes tomorrow morning, her make-up is done, hair is styled, and I know there's at least five different outfits to choose from laying on her bed.
She's planning to go out, and I bet she's planning on taking me with her.
"Oh honey," she wipes at a tear that trickles down my cheek, "why are you crying?"
"I don't know," I answer honestly. "I don't know."
"What do you mean?"
I relay the past however-many-hours it's been to Cora, telling her about reconciling with Maia and the argument with Lennon. By the time I'm finished, we've migrated to the couch: my knees are tucked to my chest as Cora sits on her knees, feet beneath her with an arm propped up on the back of the couch. I wait for her to be my voice of reason and tell me that I overreacted, or that I have every right to be upset, or maybe somewhere in the middle. Something to ease the confusion riding around in my brain without a seatbelt.
"I think he needs to get his head out of his ass, lawyer up, and fire the bitch." Cora slaps a hand over her mouth, not worried about ruining her lipstick. "I never thought I'd be saying that about Lennon Ross."
A chuckle slips past my lips. "It's crazy how much our lives have changed in these past two weeks."
"For reals. My bestie is dating a celebrity that is on thin ice with me." she says. "On one hand, I love that he responded immediately to you even if he was busy, because you're arguing and waiting would've made him more of an asshole. But on the other hand, I can't imagine anyone would be that blind to what that woman is doing to them." Cora shakes her head. "Do none of the other band members notice? Or care?"
"I guess she's been poisoning their contracts for years, but Lennon and Logan stopped reading them before signing." I tell her, watching as she rolls her eyes at their stupidity. She may be retracting her earlier claims of wishing me and Lennon the best. "Presley is preparing to get out—"
"Good for her."
"And she hasn't told the guys yet. Graham doesn't say much in general, yet alone to me. And I don't know where Milo stands."
"But they aren't the ones that are really being affected by her."
"Well, they will be when they're out of jobs."
"I'm sorry," Cora holds up her hand. "What?"
I nod. "She wants Lennon to go solo."
"Oh shit." I continue to nod as her eyebrows scrunch, watching the wheels turn in her head as she puts everything together. "Oh shit. That's why she wants Lennon to remain single. Branching off from his band, bringing all those fangirls with him and becoming a solo single act will bring in even more fangirls. That's actually pretty brilliant—from a marketing perspective, of course."
"And controlling. He's twenty years old; this isn't something that he should be worrying about."
"He's not a normal twenty year old guy, Reese." Cora reminds me. "He chose this life, and if he can't see how damaging this manager is, and it takes losing Presley and Milo and Graham and Logan and, maybe, you to realize that. Then so be it."
It sounds great in theory. But I don't want to lose him; I just got him.
♪ ♪ ♪
The first week back in classes couldn't have been more chaotic if the building was on fire. Everywhere I went, people stopped and stared. Their furious whispers quit when I looked back, but resumed once my focus was off them—as if that wasn't obvious. Our obnoxious floormate, Isa, only knocked on our door three times this week, all of which Cora answered and deflected all questions that pertained to Lennon Ross.
After my last class on Friday, the thin thread of my patience snapped, and I needed to figure out who blabbed about me on social media—and what exactly was on social media. I still haven't logged back into any of my accounts, the detox from the toxicity refreshing, and I don't miss scrolling endlessly on any of my apps.
Slamming my front door, I toss my bag to the side and call out into the apartment. "Okay, does someone want to tell my why the fuck someone just walked up to me, touched my lips, and said 'Lennon Ross has kissed these lips'?"
As my rage subsides, I notice Cora and Chandler sitting on our couch, as though they were waiting for me to get home. Not a good sign.
Cora gasped. "Someone actually did that?"
Why would I make that up? "Yeah."
"What the fuck is wrong with people."
"I don't know," I fold my arms across my chest, "how the fuck did anyone find out?"
If someone had told me the entire world knew about Lennon and me before the storm that occurred on Sunday, I might have—no, would have—locked myself in my bedroom and listened to Taylor Swift on repeat as nonstop tears flooded from my eyes while I scrolled endlessly through the hateful comments on social media and in my messages from people I hadn't heard from in years.
But the fear of the comments and fan reactions subsides to the anger boiling in my gut. These people seriously have nothing better to do than sit behind a computer screen and bitch about a life that doesn't impact them. They don't even know me. They don't know what I'm like with Lennon or what he's like with me.
And I really can't believe that none of my family or friends—or boyfriend—decided to fill me in on the current media storm.
Locking my two best friends in a heated glare, I ask a question I'm not sure I want the answer to. "What exactly was posted about us?"
Chandler clears his throat, his fingers flipping his phone around in his hand. "Someone posted a picture of you and Lennon," he pauses to cringe, "kissing in downtown LA."
My eyes widen. "How—how do people know it was me?"
Cora answers this time. "They must have recognized you. You've been seen with them multiple times, it was bound to happen."
We thought we were in the clear, and that no one would recognize him in his disguise at that hour of the night. We never considered that people would recognize me, and that it wouldn't be too hard to connect the pieces on who I was with. Everyone knew I was creating a documentary about Lennon, and out of all the band members, I was typically seen with him the most.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket, saving me from needing to respond. Pulling it out, I half expect a message from Lennon, checking in and apologizing for the actions of people he can't control. Maybe even a comment that Emma isn't upset, or that the majority of reactions to the image are positive. But disappointment swells in my chest as I check the new message from Rosie:
Rosie: i haven't messaged you bc mom promised me twenty bucks if i left u alone, but wtf is this about???
She's attached a link to PEOPLE magazine, and I click on it before I can think twice about it, waiting as our slow internet loads the page.
"Who texted you?" Cora asks. "Was it Lennon?"
"No," I answer, tapping the side of my phone impatiently as the page continues to load. Swiping down, I turn off my WiFi, and load the page using my data. "Rosie."
With wide eyes, Cora punches Chandler in the arm, a silent conversation passing between the two of them before he sighs. "Reese ... there's more—"
He doesn't get a chance to finish his statement before I'm reading it with my own two eyes. The headline is a quote they claim was said by Lennon himself, followed by the image of us kissing in LA on our date last weekend. The anger continues to simmer in my chest, reaching scalding temperatures before the pot explodes, and I read the headline I'm sure the two of them already know aloud.
"'Ross admits new relationship was a publicity stunt?'"
hey friends!
i'm officially back with (hopefully) consistent updates on this new night. my old updating schedule doesn't work with my schedule, so let's see how well this works! and if i remember since i almost forgot tonight ... oops.
only four more chapter plus an epilogue to go!