#Chapter 34 Not sleeping. Not eating. Just hurting
Rachel POV
Calot Records
"You’re driving him crazy, you know that, right?"
I looked up, startled at the voice coming through the speakers into the recording booth. I was still working hard to finish all the tracks on the LP I had signed a contract to produce when I ca under Calot Records umbrella as an artist.
Dylan Roberts was alone in the control room; I wondered how long I had been lost in my music without a sound engineer present. I felt a flash of annoyance at his interference.
I needed to get my work done to honor my contract with his company. His status as Tyler’s lifelong best friend should not interfere with our working relationship. I didn’t want anyone thinking my contract with Calot had co from having a connection to Tyler.
I’d worked my ass off to provide them with quality tracks. They were getting so of the best compositions I’d written in my life. I was insulted by the very idea people would speculate I’d used my status as Tyler Wright’s mate to get a record deal.
"I’m not done for the day."
"Yes, you are," Dylan stated, gesturing to the door, "Get in here. We need to talk."
I took off my headphones and unhooked my mic. I stretched my hands as I started out of the room. The scar on my palm ached and my fingers did feel drawn from the amount of playing I’d done during the day.
I hated to admit it, but Dylan might be right about finishing the day early. I wasn’t sure how much more my hands could take without cramping beyond usefulness.
Pausing inside the control room door, I asked, "Do you want to talk here or would you rather we go to your office?"
"Get in here. Shut the door, Rachel. I’m not in the mood to run you around the office and I think you know I’m professional enough not to be a threat to you during a one-on-one eting."
My irritation with the man eased a bit as I considered his point.
Dylan was an honorable man for all I knew of him. He and Tyler both took great pride in their work; they shared excellent reputations in their respective fields. Dylan did for musicians what Tyler was famous for doing for entertainers of the film and television variety.
Shutting the door, I moved to take a seat at the sound mixer. I crossed my legs to avoid fidgeting. The last thing I wanted was to give away nerves to this man who was, for all intents and purposes, my boss.
I wished my agent, Howard, was still sticking to my side like glue as he’d done in the first weeks of my career with Calot.
Dylan wouldn’t have started this conversation with if Howard were around. I didn’t know how I was so certain about that, but I was and I mourned for Howard. I felt too tired to deal with a conversation about my forr mate. Why couldn’t we just keep pretending we didn’t know one another outside the contract I’d signed?
"What can I do for you, Dylan? Don’t tell you’re worried Tyler isn’t being direct enough with . We both know he’s a bull in a china shop with everything except business. Sotis even with business," I anded, thinking of the tis Tyler had co ho from the office in a rage.
"He isn’t being direct enough. He’s hurting. You are hurting him. You’re in there working as if you don’t have anything except this record to think about. How can you be this cold?"
Cold? I felt a hot flush of anger race through my veins. I knew my face was flushed from my frustration and there was nothing I could do about that, but I interlaced my fingers to hold my hands still on my crossed knees.
I was going to hold back my emotions as much as I could. If Dylan wanted to be cold? I’d give him cold.
"I gave him three years of my life in which he never once told he loved . He never once took out for dinner or to a movie or on a vacation. The only ti Tyler spoke to ? Was to tell to et him in bed. You tell , Dylan: which one of us was cold?"
Tyler Wright was no innocent victim to my evil bitch. I was not going to let this man believe his friend was so kind of martyr on the altar of love. I hadn’t left him on a whim. He’d given thousands of reasons to leave in the years we’d struggled to cohabitate together.
"You have to understand his family wasn’t good to him. He had a hard ti growing up. You’ve t John Wright. He took Tyler away from his mother when he was only twelve-years-old. Can you imagine being a little boy in that man’s house? He lost his mother when John took him."
"I lost my mother when I was eight," I inford him, "She died in front of and my baby brother in our ho. Cancer. Tyler could have picked up the phone to call his mother at any ti. They don’t have telephones to call the dead, Dylan. Exactly what kind of life do you think I had before Tyler?"
Dylan opened and shut his mouth twice before taking a seat across from . He collapsed into the swivel chair as if the strings holding him up had been cut. I noticed he looked tired as he rubbed his temples. Was he losing sleep over my failed mating?
I honestly hadn’t thought Tyler was close enough with anyone to have them lose sleep over his well-being.
I did know his father, too.
John Wright was all business all the ti. He put his son first because he was his direct heir. His bloodline maintaining control of the Moonrise Pack Alpha House ant more to him than any joy for any mber of his family whether considering his sons Tyler and William or his only daughter, Charlotte.
"I am sorry Tyler had a hard childhood. Mine was not easier. He told you how we t. How do you imagine I felt that day?"
"I don’t know," Dylan confessed, "I know he said you were high. You were wild for the sex and then you vanished. I honestly thought you were a party girl. Maybe even a professional."
"You thought I was a prostitute?"
I couldn’t help the incredulity in my voice. I’d been a virgin the night I t Tyler! How had he explained away my virgin’s blood on the sheets?
"I considered it."
"I was a virgin. How many virgin prostitutes do you know? For that matter, if I was a prostitute, why didn’t I ask him for money then? Why didn’t I rob him?"
"You did rob him, Rachel! Or don’t you think the half-a-million dollars he gave you was enough to consider a robbery?"
I reeled back in my seat. The rollers moved away from Dylan and the sensation of the chair moving made feel as if I were floating for an uncomfortable mont. I felt as if the room were losing gravity or I was losing substance one.
"He told you about that? Did he tell you his father wants kept a secret?"
"Yes and yes," Dylan said, a hesitance to his tone which had not been there before, "He’s my best friend. I don’t know if he told anyone else. His father approved the transfer of funds so the old man knows about the money. I thought he wanted you kept quiet at least partially because of the scam. You thought he didn’t tell anyone?"
I didn’t need a mirror to know I must look sickly. My whole body felt wrong as sensations of shock raced through my system. I could feel my stomach cramping and my hands had locked around each other into claws on my knees.
I was glad I wasn’t standing because I doubted I would have been able to keep my feet.
"I never thought about it. Did he tell you why I asked him for money?"
"He said he didn’t know why."
I nodded, beginning to feel numb as the shock overtook every other feeling I might have had at the idea of strangers discussing my shaful start to life with Tyler.
"My father owed money to so---bad n. They ant to get their paynt from . I ran. They took my brother hostage instead. The money was to pay his ransom or they would have killed him. Ethan was only fourteen. I couldn’t let him die. He’s my only family."
Dylan grimaced as he asked, "Why didn’t your father handle things? You were still in high school yourself. I rember. I gave Tyler shit about it."
"Did you?"
For so reason, I found myself smiling at imaginings of Dylan teasing Tyler for having a high school sweetheart.
"Yeah, I did. I asked if his pick-up line was ’Hey baby, what bus do you ride?’ He didn’t think it was too funny."
I laughed a little -more a choked chuckle than anything else- and cleared my throat before I asked the question keeping paralyzed in place.
"Are you going to terminate my contract?"
"What? No. I just want you to reach out to Tyler before the man dies from heartbreak. He’s not sleeping. He’s not eating. He’s just---hurting. You said your brother was all you had. Well, Tyler is my best friend. He’s been my one guy to count on all my life. I don’t want to see him suffer. Seeing you date another man is killing him. Being apart from you is killing him."
I didn’t want Tyler to suffer either.
I nodded, "Okay. I’ll call him. No promises on making things better though. The last ti we t up didn’t go well. As for who I date? Tyler doesn’t get to say anything about that and neither do you. He can’t ask to hide in his closet yet expect to be loyal only to him, too. I won’t tolerate that kind of hypocrisy."
"He’s not the kind to change quickly. Just try to give the man a little grace?"
"Sure," I agreed, moving jerkily to my feet before stepping away from Dylan, "I’m going to go ho now. Next ti you want to talk to about Tyler? Try to give a little grace, too. You don’t know the whole story, Dylan. Okay?"
He murmured his ’okay’ as I turned to leave; I hoped I wouldn’t have another heart-to-heart with Tyler’s best friend anyti soon.
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