Three Months Later

Launi

"Are you sure you don't want me to tell you," Parker says. She can barely contain herself as she pleads for me to let her give me one 'small, itty bitty update.'

"Parker, I can't. It's taken me three months to not think of him every second of the day." I tell her.

"But that's—" she starts but I cut her off.

"Dead to us Parker," I say adamantly. "It was your decision."

"I've changed my mind," she says. "And I know you made me swear no matter what that I would never tell you another thing about him and we wouldn't bring him up but LAUNI, I have to tell you,"

"You don't and you won't" I insist.

This time Parker actually stomps her feet beneath the table. "Launi don't make me hold in this information. I've supported your complete shutdown of social media, and I supported you when you declined to do any further PR for the band, and I've even tolerated the three month no going out rule as you heal although you know my thoughts on that," she says.

"I do know your thoughts on that, and I've promised you we will be out and about again as soon as I feel ready to move on," I tell her. She opens her mouth to tell me something further, but I don't let her even get started. I hold my finger up. "And I know you think that going out and talking to other boys is exactly what I need to get over Rye, but I disagree and would rather live vicariously through you," is say.

"I would be a bad friend if I didn't tell you this," she says. "And actually, it's better it comes from me because some time in the next forty-eight hours it is for sure going to be brought to your attention. I've don't the math, there's no way to avoid this."

"First of all, we both know you're terrible at math," I remind her. "And second, I just don't think I'm ready to hear anything about him." My heart hurts even thinking about what he might be doing and how he wasn't there when I had come out to the waiting room to find him. Everyone stayed. Each member of the band and security had been sitting uncomfortably in those horrible chairs as if waiting to be released by his children. But Rye wasn't there. He'd ran again and in the three months since my father's heart attack, he hadn't reached out with any explanation.

"You're pissing me off," she says and for a second, I worry that I really am. I wouldn't blame her. It's been three months of non-stop beating of a dead horse about the situation. She had to listen to me go on and on about the whole thing all while not being allowed to share even a sentence of tea she had heard on social media. It must be torture for her.

"I'm sorry," I say honestly.

"Launi, I'm your best friend, right?" she asks.

"Of course," I tell her.

"And I'm the logic when your brain isn't being logical, right?" she asks.

"I don't like where this is going," I tell her.

"I'm overruling your self-appointed no tea healing method. You need this tea. I need you to hear this tea," she says, emphasizing the 'I' for dramatic effect. "So, suck it up and listen."

My heart immediately starts beating quicker. As scared as I am that I won't be able to handle whatever the news is, I nod because I trust her.

Parker quickly types something into her phone and then hands it to me. The video is grainy and it's dark inside the old dive bar where it's being filmed. A figure carrying a guitar steps on stage and I stop breathing. It's Rye, but he looks different. His hair is shorter, but it's still long enough to curl beneath the sides of a baseball hat. His jaw is shaved to the skin, but he's rocking a thick mustache that stops just beyond his lower lip. I recognize him, but at the same time I don't. I guess these three months have changed him as much as they've changed me.

I've quit PR for now to decide if it's really something I want to pursue. Parker and I moved into our own apartment, and I used the money I'd been paid for the summer to take some time off and away from the fast-paced world of rockstars and rumors. I hadn't looked at a post since before the hospital.

The crowd on the video gets quiet as Rye strums the guitar. There's so much I don't know about him. I glance up at Parker quickly and she is watching me, her eyes wide and full of excitement, her elbows rest on the table as she covers her mouth with both hands clenched in fists and leans forward as if she's fighting with everything she has to not spoil the ending.

Rye speaks into the microphone as the video adjusts and focuses on him, going from grainy to crystal clear. The image of him still makes me melt. I can remember the way he smelled and the feel of his hands on my skin. Three months has done nothing to extinguish that fire.

"I few summers ago I got to spend about ten minutes on a dock beside a lake with the girl I'd had a crush on since I was just a kid," he says and the females in the crowd collectively 'awe.'

Rye continues, "She suggested that I learn to play the guitar instead of the drums and I went home that night and got started," he says. "She was right, I like it more," he tells them. I watch his chest expand as he takes in a large, calming breath. "I made her a promise I haven't been able to keep."

This time the audience responds with sounds of sympathy. Rye chuckles but never looks back up. He might come across as being playful right now, but I know his tone—he's suffering. I'm reminded of that summer, the way I had held his wrist because holding his hand would have been too intimate, but I didn't want him to feel alone. Tears sting my eyes as I wait impatiently for his next words.

"This is for you 'Baby Girl," he says.

I watch and listen as he sings the most beautiful song. I thought he was talented on the drums, but he's surprisingly more talented on that acoustic guitar. It fits him better. He isn't hidden behind the set playing a beat for an entire band, he's alone on stage, vulnerably exposed and yet somehow infinitely more comfortable.

The song is about me but never mentions my name. He closes out the last verse with the term Baby Girl and the audience in the small bar goes wild. The voice behind the phone in the recording can be hard saying, "I'm going to post this," and then the video begins again. This time I notice the number of times it has been liked and shared. It's viral a few times over.

"Oh my God," I say to Parker who is practically dancing with joy in her chair.

"I can't believe I held that in for so long. It's been a month," she says.

"What?" I ask in disbelief. When I check the date, she's right. "Why now then?" I ask her.

"Because of this," she says, taking the phone from my hands and typing in the next search so fast she must set a record. Once again, she hands me her phone and I watch as a reporter with the leading gossip channel speaks over the video of Rye in the bar.

"Rye Banning has done the impossible," she tells the camera. "His single released moments after this intimate bar performance has passed Free Pony's "Baby Girl" in the charts as well as in internet search records. It has quickly become the most clicked version on all sites and has moved to the coveted top of the first search page for songs with the term "Baby Girl" in them. Where he's at these days is a mystery, much like the woman who he is believed to be referencing in the viral video. Launi Kline, hasn't been heard from since her father's massive heart attack this July in Vegas, her socials have been deleted and we are told she no longer works as PR manager for Free Pony."

My eyes fly up to Parker. She motions for me to keep listening. "I almost spilled the beans on this part," she says quickly. "Like every day for the past three months. But we wanted to respect your journey," she says, a slight snark at the word journey. I know it's been killing her to keep this all to herself.

"We?" I ask,

She shushes me and directs my attention back to the video.

I tap the screen to start it again and the news caster continues to outline the worst week of my life. "As for Tinsley Lockheart," she says, her tone changing from somber to more playful, "many of you will remember the scandal on Jonie's show." I stop the video and try to hand the phone back to Parker.

"Knock it off," she tells me, pushing it back. "I literally can't take it anymore. I will shove that phone down your throat if I have to."

I nod, and start the video, terrified of what was said about me after all this time in the dark. "No one thought there would be a hotter story than Rye and Launi Kline, but boy were we wrong," I almost choke when a picture of Tinsley kissing my brother outside the hospital the night of my father's heart attack fills the screen behind the reporter.

"What?' I ask in complete shock.

"Dying, literally dying," Parker says, reminding me I've been making her carry this alone for months.

"Turns out Tinsley was having some fun on the side as well. Nothing could have overshadowed the Rye cheating drama the way this kiss did. It was the kiss heard round the world—or at least round the internet."

"Parker!' I practically scream. "My brother?"

"It's a long story," she says, "and I can't wait to fill you in. Now will you please tell me this healing journey is over and you're ready to go back out in the real world because boy do I have an important message to pass along to you."