All Access (The Fangirl Series Book 1) (12 page)

Since he’s lying on top of the comforter, I go in search of a blanket. My eyes travel to his closet. It’s wide open, so it’s fair game for a look, right? I run my fingers along all his clothes, most of them hanging neatly, but a few wadded up and stuffed onto the built-in shelves. I spy several pieces of his band merch, and make a mental note to ask if I can “permanently borrow” one for my collection. He has
a lot
of clothes, which explains and/or supports his layering fetish.

I find a fuzzy, cozy blanket and smell it to make sure it’s fresh and not musty or dusty (cue the mother in me). It smells just fine, so I open it up and drape it across Niles. He looks so peaceful and he’s breathing so quietly, I lean in to make sure he’s okay. Of course he is, so I smooth his hair away and kiss his forehead gently. “Night, sleepyhead.”

I look around, wondering what to do next. I assume we both assumed I’d sleep in here with him, so I peel back the comforter on the other side and wiggle into the sheets. His bed is super comfy. I arrange the million pillows just so, and prepare to totally crash. But my mind has other ideas. It’s reminding me that, although Niles and I have already slept in a bed together, this is different. This is his place. His bed. His sheets. His stuff. Everywhere, all around me.

When I started penning Nash and Emily, there is no freaking way in the world I could have ever imagined I’d be living this for real. Emily was freaked out the first time she slept at Nash’s, too, but they had just made love. I wonder what that will be like with Niles. Will it be sweet or hot? Or both? Will it be slow and deliberate or fast and efficient? Will we roll over and fall asleep, or will we snuggle up and hold each other tight? I’ve wondered this many times, but being in his bed, I know now that I want it to happen here, not in a hotel room.

I sit up and glance at the clock on the nightstand next to Niles. It’s 3:05. I allow my fingers to gently pull through his hair, glide across his blanket-covered shoulders, and rub a circle on his back. Then, I lie down and force my mind to quiet. I guess it works, because the next time my eyes open, it’s 5:05 and I shoot straight up . . . dripping in sweat.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Bedtime Stories

“Kallie! What’s wrong?”

My eyes see only black, but the voice I hear is instantly recognizable. Am I dreaming? Is this real? My hand swipes across my forehead that’s covered in sweat. My T-shirt clings to me so tightly I feel like I need to rip it off in order to breathe. I fling back some covers and stand up on a floor that doesn’t feel like my own. What is going on?

“Hey, are you okay?” In an instant, I’m wrapped into a warm hug. I don’t know if it’s welcomed or smothering. My eyes finally focus and I make out Niles’s shape. I look around and remember I’m in his room. I’m here with him in New York City and we spent the evening together on the roof, writing and eating cheesecake and kissing until our lips hurt. It was real.
This
is real. This is not a dream.

Then why do I feel so empty?

I pull away from him, my heart still racing. Words flood my brain.
Our dynamic is fucked up. I’m a piece of shit. I know what I’m capable of. Sometime I’ll tell you about the real Niles—you’d be shocked.

I walk backward away from him until I am against his closet door. He walks around to his side of the bed and turns on the lamp. When the light shines on him, I feel two very conflicting emotions: happy and scared.

“Kallie, are you sleepwalking? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” His voice is low, yet palpably concerned.

I take a deep breath, remembering now what woke me up so suddenly. “I have,” I whisper. “I’ve seen
your
ghosts.”

Niles stares at me, his expression both confused and concerned. “What?!”

“Tell me about Robbyn, Niles!” I feel so out of it, yet I hear myself shouting. “Tell me about your relationship with her then and now. Why did you break up? I asked you, but you never answered.
When
did you break up? I asked you that, too, and you never answered. Shit, for all I know you two could still be together.” I lean over so my palms rest on my thighs. I’m totally out of breath.

“Kallie, it’s, like, five o’clock in the morning. You obviously had a bad dream. Let’s lie back down. I’ll hold you close.” He walks toward me with his arms outstretched.

“Stop!” I shoot out my hand. “I want to get in that bed with you more than I want almost anything else, but I need to hear this from you first. Why are you avoiding these questions, Niles? I was straight with you about Brad, yet every question I ask about Robbyn gets the brush-off. What the fuck went on between you two that you won’t tell me anything? Why is your ‘dynamic’ so ‘fucked up’? Why did she try to tell me you’re the opposite of Nash, but yet she’s obviously still so obsessed with you?” I catch my breath, pulling up my eyes to meet his. “And, most importantly, why are you so freaking hard on yourself?”

Niles straightens and looks up toward the ceiling. When his eyes meet mine again, they’re flashing. “You want to know what happened? Do you really? Because when I tell you, I promise it will change the way you think about me!” His voice has risen, his face awash with pain. “I’m
not
fucking
Nash
, Kallie. I’m a fucking wreck. Have been for years and probably always will be.”

“We’re all fucked up, Niles.”

“Not like me.” He shakes his head and breathes a heavy breath out of his nose. He looks back at me, narrowing his eyes. “You ever think about offing yourself, Kallie? Like, really think about it? To the point where you’re there, in the moment, ready to say ‘Go!’ until someone comes and saves your ass? Like, literally saves your ass?”

My heart stops. I shake my head no.

“That was Robbyn, Kallie. She saved my ass. I was one step away from jumping off a bridge. No kidding. I’d been at this shit-game of entertainment for so long, never making a name for myself. I’d had it. My voice was my life and if it wasn’t good enough to get me where I wanted to be, then what was the point? I said, ‘Fuck it,’ went to the bridge and prepared to dive off.”

“Oh my God, Niles.” Though I’m willing him to look at me, he’s staring at the wall. Tears flood my eyes.

“Oh wait, there’s more.” He runs his hands through his hair. “So, Robbyn comes up and talks me down. Followed me there because she knew something was up. Tells me she believes in me and that there are good things to come. Tells me she loves me, has for ages, and was so glad Jase was part of the band so she could get close to me. She’s a cute girl, right, and we were always friendly, and hell, she just saved my fucking life. So, what do I do? I fucking make love to her in her car. Right in her fucking car. Two minutes before, I was about to die; now I’m busting a nut and using a poor girl who had genuine feelings for me to make myself feel better. Great guy, huh?”

I’m stone silent.

“Thank God she did what she did, though, because the very next day, we got “the call.” The one where some big shot tells you they can blow up your career with the stroke of a pen. You got the call, too, so you know, right? Yours was a publisher, mine was a record label.” He looks at me through tears in his eyes. “Then, the whirlwind began. Oh, and it was everything we dreamed. In my mind, at that time, I had no one to thank but Robbyn. Without her, I’d have missed out on my dream. I’d have been shoveling lava down in the deep, hot south for a guy named Luci who would take such crazy pleasure in my pain.” Heat pricks the back of my neck.

He turns to look out the window, then faces me again. “I allowed myself to make Robbyn promises I knew I couldn’t and shouldn’t keep. And, of course, we were stupid and foolish, so there was the whole quintessential pregnancy scare. I promised her that if we had a kid together I’d be a great dad and I’d make her my wife, blah, blah, blah. Well, guess what? Sure as fuck, she
did
get pregnant, and what did I do? Started fantasizing about her getting an abortion! Because God forbid a kid screw up the budding career that I worked so fucking hard for.” He punches the bed and looks up at me. “She ended up miscarrying very early anyway, but by then she was convinced we’d someday be married. Even though I cared for her, I knew that’d never, ever happen. I don’t even think I was ever completely in love with her. And not only that, marriage is sure the fuck not in my cards.”

He’s breathing hard. Anger for himself spreads all over his face. “Shall I go on?” I don’t know what else to do, so I nod.

“I stayed with her out of comfort and convenience, and because I realized what a piece of shit I was. This sweet girl saved me and I owed it to her to treat her well. So, we carried on as a couple for a year.” He raises his eyes and walks toward me. “But then I read your book. Someone on my team was a big fan of it and saw a lot of very obvious similarities between Nash and me. She was absolutely certain it must have been inspired by me. I remember laughing my fool head off because I couldn’t imagine who could find me interesting enough to model an entire character after. And a good guy, at that. I read it anyway, and even though you made Nash a hell of a lot more awesome than I am, I was really touched by how much of the real me showed up in that character. The me I haven’t seen in a long, long while. It’s like you knew me. All the stuff you projected onto Nash was either the real me, or the guy I wished I could be. And because of that, I felt like I knew you in return.”

He inches toward me until he’s finally close enough to put his hands on my shoulders. “I was already starting to pull away from Robbyn. And she was pulling away from me, too, though she’ll never admit it. Toward the end, I know she was talking to other guys, doing her own thing, even while she was out touring with us. But she likes being part of our group because it makes her feel important and special and it helps her career in promotions, so she thinks. So, she stays around. And likely always will.”

I breathe for the first time since he started his monologue. “So, if she was already talking to other guys, why is she so upset that you split?”

“Because no one likes to be dumped, Kallie. And no one likes to be replaced as quickly as she was. Especially when at one time you thought you’d marry that person someday.”

Replaced? Wow. If I’m her “replacement” and he’s talking about me moving to New York, I guess I really am more than just a fun-time fangirl. Right? The moment I get this question answered for good is the moment I’ll be happier than a pig in shit. Now’s not the time to press it, though. We’re still not done with the Robbyn conversation.

“How come Jase doesn’t hate you?” I ask. I mean, most brothers are fiercely protective of their sisters, and if Jase knew any of this, how could he not hate Niles?

“He knows almost none of this story. The bridge, the pregnancy, none of it. As far as he’s concerned, we just hit it off one night, dated for a while, decided we weren’t right for each other after all, and that’s that. He sees how wrecked she is now, but he knows she can be a bit dramatic at times.”

I’m not sure “dramatic” is the word I’d use here. Their history is way more intense than I could’ve imagined. And given how hard I’ve fallen for Niles in the short time I’ve known him, I can definitely see where she’d get a little screwy. This is so weird. All of it. I stare at the side of his face, imagining myself burrowing into his ear, sifting through the folds of his brain until I get him figured out. It’s probably so messy in there. Just like he said. Just like he warned.

“So, now that you know the extent of my shit-ness,” he says, sitting on the bed, “are you going to pack up and head home? Can’t say I’d blame you.”

“Of course not, Niles.”

The words come out before I’ve given myself a chance to think about them. Why
shouldn’t
I pack up and go home? Do I really want to put myself in a position to be crushed by him, too? I have two kids. This is complicated. He is probably the last person I should be letting into my life.

But just tell that to my heart.

“This is why I’ve been so careful around you, Kallie.” He takes my hand and pulls me onto the bed next to him. “I told you back in Boston that I don’t want to hurt you like I hurt her. Not just because I don’t want to earn another asshole card, but also because I have some serious feelings for you. Already. And that freaks me out a whole lot. But you already know that because I’ve told you that, too.” He turns to look at me, giving me puppy dog eyes and a cheesy smile. “See? I’m trying to be upfront and honest.”

He’s right. He
has
told me all those things. He’s been honest and now he’s let me in. He’s shown me his dark side and shared something that must have been very hard to share. That’s big in a relationship, right? For the first time, I feel like we’re finally on even playing ground.

“I’m not going anywhere.” I lean forward and kiss him gently. “And I appreciate your honesty.” I bite my lip hard then because what I really want to say next is,
And I love you even more for it
.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Out of Control

After our little (okay, huge) moment, poor Niles decided to hit the shower. The clock says 5:45 a.m., but it feels like it’s been an entire day. Maybe even a week. I am so tired, but my mind continues to race. I absolutely cannot believe the conversation we just had. I play it over and over in my head as I shimmy beneath the covers and put the comforter up to my nose. I breathe in, wondering if Niles ever migrates to this side of the bed, or if he always stays on the left. What time does he go to sleep when he’s alone and not on tour? Does he read in bed? I look around and don’t see any books, so probably not. He must watch TV, though, since the remote is perched on the nightstand between the lamp and the clock. Or maybe he doesn’t do anything in here but sleep. And, well, some of that
other
stuff. There’s so much I don’t know about him, but I want to know everything. All of it. From the big stuff he just told me to the completely mundane.

The shower is still going and my mind is ablaze, so I decide to snoop a little. I know it’s wrong, but tell me what girl hasn’t snooped her love interest’s bedroom, even if casually? I ease out of the bed and peer under it. It’s as barren as a desert. Not a dust bunny, discarded paper, or matchless sock to be seen. The top of his dresser is clean, too, aside from a small pile of change and his wallet. I suppose this makes sense, given his self-proclaimed germophobia.

I look into his closet again and open one of the built-in drawers. There are two stacks of running shorts, all black, and from what I can gather, all Nike. I wonder if they’re all as huge as the ones he wore when he was at my house. I close the drawer and pull out the sleeve of one of his shirts. I hold it up to my nose and breathe in, wishing I could bottle his scent for all those times I can’t be with him. I close my eyes and envision lazy Sunday mornings in bed together, the two of us pecking away at our laptops, fully engrossed in writing and sharing each other’s space. Our knees would touch as we both sit cross-legged on his bed, then we’d scoot a little closer until the magnets that seem to reside in both of us pull us together and our laptops get tossed aside in favor of pawing and smooching.

I must be more immersed in my daydream than I realize, because when my eyes snap open, he’s standing in front of me with wet hair, no shirt, and a towel wrapped around his waist. I literally gasp.

“Want to borrow that shirt?” He nods toward the sleeve I still hold in my hand. I drop it, embarrassed, and shake my head.

“I’m good,” I say, stupidly, when what I really want to say is,
Want to take off that towel
?

“We technically don’t have to get up for another couple hours.” He slips on an oversized white V-neck that seemed to materialize from out of nowhere. “Wanna lie back down?”

I do. I really, really do. But I
do not
trust myself in bed with him right now. Not even for an innocent nap. After his soul-bearing monologue, I feel closer to him than ever, and I can just imagine how amazing his skin would feel, all fresh and out of the shower. If he thinks he’s getting under the sheets with nothing on but that T-shirt and towel—and making it out alive—he’s so very wrong. Unless that’s what he’s hoping for. A good bone-jumping. But that can’t be, right? He’s made it very (very!) clear; he’s being careful. He couldn’t have possibly changed his mind in the last twenty minutes. Or could he? He
is
a guy, after all.

Nope, it’s best to play it safe. “You rest. I’m going to squeeze out a few more paragraphs.” I step toward him, because that’s what the magnets within me demand, and wrap my arms around his neck. “You look so tired. I am so sorry I kept you up so late and for waking you up when you finally slept. Forgive me?” I make a puppy-dog face of my own, and stick out my bottom lip for good measure.

“Of course.” He drops his chin so his lips sail toward me, but I intercept by catching his forehead against mine. I know what will happen if I let him kiss me.

“Thank you. Now, sleep.”

“Okay,” he says, looking almost relieved. “But are you really going to write?”

“Yup. You’ve inspired me yet again, my muse.”

“I’m seriously impressed with your dedication, Kallie. Truly. I quite think
you
are the inspiring one, my dear.” I could be wrong, but I think I see a genuine look of adoration in his eyes.

“If some lyrics come to you, come join me. I’ll be on the couch . . . snuggled up with this.” I pull the fuzzy blanket I covered him with earlier across the bed and bunch it up in my arms. “Night.”

I blow him a kiss and walk out of his room, closing the door behind me. I lean against it, just like they do in the movies, and swear I hear him say, “Jesus. That girl makes me fucking crazy.”

I feel a smile break across my face, while my stomach does a little flip. “You make me crazy, too, my muse,” I whisper. “Sweet dreams.”

***

When I open my eyes, I’m greeted with an upside-down Niles hanging over me. “How did I know you’d fall asleep? You should’ve just hopped back in bed with me.”

It takes me a minute to figure out that my back is against the arm of his couch, my legs are stretched out across the cushions, and my head is tipped back, barely clinging to the corner of the backrest for support. Niles stands behind me, bent at the waist until his face is above mine. He gives my forehead a quick peck, then walks around to the front of the couch, feeling for my legs under the blanket. He lifts them up and plops down in the middle of the couch, repositioning my legs and the blanket on his lap. I die a little.

“Get any writing done?” He peeks at my laptop screen, which has gone black. Evidently, I’ve been snoozing for a bit.

“What time is it?”

“Eight thirty. I finally feel rested. You?”

I nod and hit the space bar on my laptop, waking it up. The clock in the corner tells me that the computer went to sleep at 7:11, which means I got a good hour of writing done, plus an hour-or-so nap.

“I got a lot done,” I say, remembering some of my words. I wasn’t kidding when I told him I was feeling inspired. I am 99.99% sure that I wrote some of my best, most heartfelt stuff
ever
during that hour. An excellent scene (if I do say so myself) where Nash tells Emily something he’d never shared with anybody (ahem) and how amazing she felt that he trusted her enough to share it. I look at Niles and my insides warm, knowing I have him to thank for that creative burst.

“That’s great,” he says. “I’m a little jealous. I could really use a hot streak like that right about now.”

He somehow bends far enough to wiggle his arm and shoulder alongside my hip, and he rests his head by my left boob. My free hand doesn’t even try to stop itself; it immediately races toward his head, where it fiddles with his hair, runs the backs of its fingers across his forehead, and even allows its thumb to trace the perimeter of his eyebrows. I hope he doesn’t hate this because I could go on like this forever.

“You’re making progress, though, right?” I seriously can’t even imagine the pressure this poor guy must be feeling right now. Again, I feel a pang in my gut, worried that I’ve become a hindrance to his creative flow. I know how hard it is to get your groove. But I also know how awesome it is to run with it when you
do
hit your groove. That’s where I am right now. But obviously he’s not.

“Some. Showers are always good for thinking. A few things came to me in there this morning.” He turns his head and nuzzles closer, if that’s even possible.

“I’ve had some seriously incredible dialogue chunks come to me in the shower.” I laugh. “Many times, actually. I came up with some awesome one-liners for you, er,
Nash
in there, back in the day.” I lift my left elbow in an effort to playfully jab him, but all I do is make his head bounce.

“I had a direction,” he says quietly. “For the whole album, kinda. But I can’t go there now. So I started from scratch.”

I look down at him the best I can from my angle and see that he’s looking across the room. I can’t read the expression on his face, and he doesn’t give me time to follow up.

“Why didn’t you get back in bed with me this morning, Kallie? Did my dirty secrets scare you away?”

“Not at all, Niles,” I whisper.

“Then why?”

Unfiltered Kallie takes a deep breath. “The truth? It’s because I feel closer to you than ever right now . . . and I didn’t trust myself to give you the space you needed. So I left.”

It’s quiet for a minute as I try to stay cool. Things got very real a couple hours ago and I realized that I need to strive for a place of respect, for us both. He wiggles around, then a big breath leaves his nostrils.

“Do you know that what I told you this morning, I didn’t think I would ever tell another living soul, ever? Not
ever
.” I pull my hand out of his hair and instead run it up and down the arm that’s draped across me.

“I know it was hard for you. And I thank you, again, for being so honest.”

“You weren’t supposed to get to me like that, Kallie. I’m supposed to be in control here. But for whatever reason, with you, I lose it.” I can’t tell if he sounds sad or defeated or frustrated or surprised. But if he thinks he’s not in control—of himself, or even our relationship—I beg to differ.

“Niles, please. As you well know, if it were up to me, we’d have done the horizontal tango long ago. I’d venture to say you still have plenty of control over this . . .  whatever this is.”

“That’s just one chunk of it, Kallie. I promised myself that after the whole Robbyn ordeal I would never lose my cool ever again. But guess who became a blobby mess this morning? My own mother doesn’t even know that shit, and you know from some of my lyrics and interviews how close I am to her.” He peeks up at me from his awkward angle. “How is it that
you
pulled it all out of me?”

I shrug as though he can see me. He sounds so vulnerable, and in as many words, I suppose that’s exactly what he’s telling me. Does he get like this with all the girls he’s involved with? If he surrendered to Robbyn, and now he says he’s lost control with me? Jeez, maybe this is his M.O. I made Nash pretty vulnerable, too, but I always thought that was a character-reach and never imagined it’d be a real characteristic of Niles. Maybe I was more right than I knew.

“Maybe it’s the girls I end up with or because I’ve become a spoiled brat rock star, but I’m pretty much used to calling the shots,” he continues, completely overturning my suspicions. “I stay guarded. Easier that way. Even with Robbyn, the only real personal side of me she ever saw was that bridge episode. I didn’t really share anything else.” He pauses and lets out another breath. “She would’ve ended the pregnancy for me, even though I know she wanted the baby. She would’ve done anything I asked her to, and that’s pretty much the way my relationships work. If you can even call them relationships.” He lifts his head again to look at me. “I’m not proud of that. It’s just kind of the way things always shake out.”

He laces his fingers through mine and kisses my hand. “But I think you might not be like that. I feel like you would—you
will
—give me a run for my money. Challenge me a bit. Make me forget about myself, even just a little . . . for once.”

I feel his warmth against me. I hear his voice and digest his words. I see his face smashed against my shirt. I feel his slender arm digging slightly into my rib cage and his fingers grasping mine for dear life. This is my celebrity crush . . . who has turned into my real-life crush. At this moment, I would throw a boulder off the top of a mountain for him. I’d bait a hook with live bees if that’s how he told me was the best way to fish. I’d eat venison jerky, which I despise, and read a book about paint drying if he wanted me to. I know
exactly
how Robbyn and all of his other girls must’ve felt.

“I’m not so sure,” I say, pulling his hand up and resting it on my cheek. “You make me a whole lot like putty. Right now, I’d do just about anything for you, too.”

“The thing is . . . for once, I feel exactly the same way.”

I swear if my stomach squeezed any tighter I’d need smaller pants. I cannot believe I am hearing this. He is totally falling—or
has fallen
—for me. It’s
not
a one-sided fangirl fantasy anymore. At all. My big question has been answered. We’re truly becoming a thing.

He lifts himself up and rests his weight on top of me. I study his face, just inches from mine. He is so beautiful, he melts my soul into a million tiny pools. I need him. He needs me. We need to figure this out. We need to be a “we.”

“I’ll tell you what,” I say. “Since we’re both used to calling the shots, maybe this is our big chance to ease back. No one’s in control, no one’s the submissive. We’ll just take it easy and . . . challenge each other. One day at a time.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, knitting his brows together so tightly that his forehead looks like sand ripples on the shore. “No promises, Kallie. I can’t promise you anything.”

I want to tell him I know. Tell him I understand that he’s scared of screwing up again and hurting me and hurting himself and committing to something he doesn’t yet know he’s strong enough to commit to. But I don’t. Because, in truth, I have no idea where we’re going or, given all of our baggage, how we’re even going to get there. I’ve already gone way out of my comfort zone with him and know that pretty much anything is up for grabs right now. I’d be a fool to promise anything, too.