Rye

Launi's door shuts and nothing makes any sense. I want to ask her if she's ok and where she went when she left me to play the song alone.

"Oh, my earrings," Tinsley says from behind me and retreats back into the room in search of them.

I step across the hall, determined to knock when I hear a loud noise from inside. The force of it rattles the door in its frame. I freeze, my imagination telling me he's inside pushing her up against the wall. My fist clenches and I lift it to knock, desperate to interrupt them, but I hear him ask if she's "good," and I stop right before my knuckles meet the thin door.

Her reply kills me. Mmmmhmm.

"Let's go, Baby," Tinsley says suddenly from behind me. "You can ask your manager about the contract, I'm sure they know more anyways."

Contract? What is she talking about?

"I already gave approval for my clauses. It's a few more things than we initially agreed to but it's basically the same as the last one," she says, nonchalantly attempting to put an earring in her ear as we walk towards the elevator.

My possibly still-drunk brain can't keep up. I'm feeling equal parts rage, hurt and confusion. My phone vibrates again and I finally pull it out of my pocket. The doors of the elevator open quickly, and we step inside as I unlock the screen. The security guard holds the doors open and then steps in with us. I don't even know where to begin looking. Each app has over fifty notifications; texts, calls, Instagram, email and even Snapchat which I'm never on.

The screen clears as an incoming call flashes across it. It's my manager. She doesn't even wait for me to say hello before launching into her demands. "Rye, I need you to get on your email and look over that contract. Now, I don't necessarily think this is the best idea for you, but it is for the band so I think we have to go with it after that post or there's a chance the fans will turn on you."

"What are you talking about?" I ask.

Tinsley has her head buried in her phone as we ride the elevator down to the garage. Even as I look at her, waiting for her to hopefully help put some of the puzzle together for me, she never looks up.

"Extending the contract between you and Tinsley. That post kind of put us in a hard place. It might have been best to ride out that first break up, but now if you leave her after she's flown out multiple times to see you on tour and you clearly hooked up with her last night, we can't just drop her or her fans will turn on you and also the band," she tells me.

There's no way we hooked up last night. I couldn't even walk let alone perform.

"We didn't hook up," I say. "I still don't know what you're talking about."

"Rye, come on. The post..." she says, finally slowing down so I have a chance to catch up.

"What post?" I ask.

I can't help but stare down at Tinsley. I know she had something to do with this. She's purposely not looking at me at this point.

"What fucking post?" I ask again, directing the question more to Tinsley than my manager.

"Rye," my manger says calmly. "I'm going to call you back in a few minutes. Get on your socials and read your emails too. Everything you need to know is in there. We need your decision before Denver."

"What did you do?" I ask Tinsley as the call disconnects.

She shrugs and smiles up at me. "It's the most likes and comments I've ever gotten on a post!"

I don't wait for her to tell me about it. My fingers deftly log onto Instagram for the first time in what feels like forever. My account practically glitches as it recalculates the stats in real time.

I open my notices and see that the Free Pony account has reposted and tagged me in a story. If I wasn't nauseous enough before, it's hit a new high right in this moment. I open the story and see a photo of me sleeping, my back with scratches exposed as Tinsley smiles from beside me as if we've had sex. Risky move on her part if she's trying to play America's Sweetheart because there is nothing pure about the message she's trying to send.

"Tinsley," I say exacerbated.

"Don't be mad," she says, faking a pout. "This is so good for both of us."

I'm about to argue that's she's probably just fucked up the rest of this tour for me, but the doors of the elevator slide open and save me from a confession I can't take back. Launi clearly has seen this post, she even retweeted and tagged me. What a fucking dick she must think I am. And she isn't wrong. I did this to myself.

"Just sign the contract Rye," Tinsley says as she steps out. "I have to go, but I'll text you later."

Tinsley doesn't even bother to say goodbye. She motions to security and a man opens the door to a waiting black car. Is it me, or am I the side character in her movie? I watch as she leaves, and will the panic beginning to build to go with her.

My phone buzzes again, as a matter of fact, it never stopped buzzing. The constant push notifications are draining my already dangerously low battery. I decide to forget about social media and dig for any communication from Launi. I'm disparate to know if she hates me again.

It doesn't take much time to find the emails that have apparently been flying back and forth from her to my team and Tinsley's. She's looped in Free Pony's manager and even a few lawyers. I start from the most recent and read backwards, learning as I go how Launi has come up with this entire plan as a PR stunt to spin the latest Tinsley post. She suggests we try to endear the fans that dislike Tinley by pushing the narrative in our favor. She's suggested a few carefully staged moments and one major TV interview that could let the fans see we are real people who only want to explore this relationship no matter how it will end.

End, I think to myself.

Yes, when will it end? I scroll quicker, looking for the date I'm out of this contract I'm being asked to sign. I can't find it in my frantic search, but over and over I see Launi coming up with ways to display this relationship. Is that what she wants? There has to be another way out of this. We could stick with the original plan and let the world think I'm like my father. I can be the womanizer he used to be and not have to pretend any longer.

My finger stops on an email I'm copied on between her and my manager. It's just the three of us. At 6:47am Launi wrote:

"I think if he abandons her now, the hundreds of thousands of new followers to Free Pony's social media that are die-hard fans of hers will cancel him. The only move is to make both sides see them as real people and have the relationship end amicably. Rye gets to leave and go back to the womanizing drummer Free Pony needs him to be for their old fan base so he fills the void left by his father, and the self-appointed Tinsley Fan club president won't take her angry fans on a Cancel Rye Banning Tour. Let me know if you have any other ideas. "

My manger took an hour to respond:

"I agree. This is probably the only way to pull out of this potential brand PR nose-dive for everyone. We need to get Rye on board. I'll start working with the lawyers to draft a new contract. Thanks for your help with this Launi. Your idea might just save this summer for everyone."

One last email puts the nail in the coffin for me. Launi responds "No problem. It's my job."

And that's it, isn't it? This is her job. It's always been just her job. It's one summer on the road with the band and then she'll be gone. Silly me to think it was something deeper.

My phone powers down and I shove it back in my pocket. If this is what she thinks is best, then by-all-means, I'll sign the contract.