This One Moment (3 page)

The interview continued with some thought-provoking questions about our lyrics and ambitions for future projects.

“Right now we're just focused on writing songs for our next album. Beyond that…well, who knows,” I said, biting back the urge to check the time. I could practically hear the seconds ticking. And as each second passed, my restlessness climbed a hundredfold. If this interview didn't end soon, I'd have to feign a sudden illness.

“More and more singers have dabbled in Broadway and Hollywood. Have you considered becoming an actor, Tyler?”

Considered? I am one, every freakin' day
. I shook my head. “It's all about the music for me.”

“What about the rest of you?”

They just shrugged. I doubt it was something that had entered any of their minds.

Then came the questions I always dreaded: the girlfriend ones.

“Of the five of you, only Tyler has a girlfriend. Tell me, Tyler, what's it like to be dating Alyssa Graham?”

“We're just friends.”

In Hollywood and the music industry that was the code for “Yes, we're fucking each other's brains out, but we don't want anyone to know about it.” But in our case, it wasn't even true. We actually were just friends, or more like acquaintances. But the paparazzi loved her, and before I knew it, I'd been romantically linked with her. I quickly learned that explaining myself was pointless. People wanted to believe whatever suited them, and Jodi was no exception.

She nodded in a way meant to signal she understood what I was saying, but the gleam in her eyes told the opposite. She was as much in love with the fictitious romance between me and Alyssa as everyone else was. It didn't help that Alyssa was doing nothing to dispute the erroneous belief.

Jodi asked the guys several questions about girls in general and about what they looked for in a possible mate.

“I don't know,” Mason said. “I like being a free agent.”

Unable to hold back any longer, I removed my phone from my back pocket and checked the time while the guys laughed at Mason's answer.

Would this interview ever end?

My question was answered several minutes later when Jodi thanked us and we were free to go.

“I'll catch up with you later,” I told the guys. Once they were out of hearing range, I called the airline and booked the next available flight home.

All I had time for was a quick wash in the men's bathroom before I had to leave for the airport. Fortunately, I had a spare T-shirt and antiperspirant in my bag, which I picked up on my way to the bathroom, so the person who sat next to me on the plane wouldn't be suffering too much.

As I walked to the back entrance, my gym bag slung over my shoulder, I sent Brandon a text, letting him know when my flight to Northbridge would land. I was booked on the 11:55 flight, with a connection in Atlanta, but wouldn't arrive until 10:30 tomorrow morning. But at least I could head straight to the hospital. By then it'd be visiting hours.

Now that Crazy Piper was performing onstage, their music vibrating through the walls and the floor, the area was empty of both crew and VIP fans who were allowed backstage. No one cared that I was leaving. My part of the evening was over.

A security guard at the end of the hallway walked toward me. He nodded at me, an acknowledgment to have a good evening. I nodded back.

As my cab sped toward the airport, Brandon responded to my text.

See you tomorrow. Will pick you up at airport.

Any news about Hailey?

Sorry. Nothing.

Jared sent me a text as the cab approached the airport, asking me where I'd bailed to. I ignored it. I didn't feel like lying, but I also didn't want to tell him the truth.

Before climbing out of the cab, I pulled on my sunglasses and my nondescript baseball cap, paid the driver, and hightailed it to check-in.

As much as I hated it, I was forced to check my guitar. I would've left it with Jared, along with my other gear, but figured I could at least work on some songs while I was away. With the record label's deadline looming over me, I couldn't treat this trip like a vacation. Every minute I wasn't with Hailey would require me to work my ass off, creating new songs.

I hurried to my gate, stopping on the way to grab a soda, since I needed something with caffeine. I did my best to avoid checking out the tabloids while in line to pay, but the headline “Baby in Tyler Erickson and Alyssa Graham's Future?” was enough for me to grab an issue and pay for it along with the drink.

On the tabloid's cover, the magazine had drawn a circle around Alyssa's stomach and scrawled the words “Baby Bump Alert!” If she was pregnant, and it was hard to tell from the photo if she was or not, I could guarantee the baby wasn't mine. Not only had we never fucked each other, I always used condoms.

At the gate, I avoided the waiting area, preferring to stay away from the crowd. I stood near the window and stared at the night sky. My mind raced back to the last time I'd been in my hometown. Hailey had driven me to the airport and told me to call her as soon as I got to L.A. I never did. And I never responded to the numerous texts she sent me over the next four months. I couldn't, as much as it killed me. I was no longer the guy she had known since third grade. Besides, Hailey knew I was alive. She had ambushed Brandon, demanding to know what was going on—the same question he frequently asked me but which I'd never been able to answer.

The flight boarded a few minutes later. I waited until my section was called to commence boarding, then approached the line. If anyone recognized me, they kept it to themselves, and the woman checking boarding passes looked like she was probably the furthest thing from being a fan of the band.

I followed the other passengers onto the plane and located my seat near the back, next to the window. I was barely settled when a woman in her late fifties pulled her suitcase to my row and inspected the overhead compartment. Her gaze jerked to her luggage, then back to the compartment. Releasing a long, hard sigh, she bent down and picked up the bag.

“Do you need help with that?” I asked.

“Yes, please.” She smiled, and my heart pinched at how much her smile reminded me of my mom, as did her floral perfume.

As if the trip wouldn't be painful enough.

I helped her with the luggage, then sat back down again and leafed through the tabloid until I found the article I'd been searching for. Inwardly I groaned. If I didn't know better, I'd be convinced from reading this that Alyssa and I were very much in love. And yes, the photo of her kissing me, which wasn't what it looked like, didn't help my case either.

“You know none of that is true, right?” the woman next to me said, her gaze on the tabloid in my hand. “It's all fiction. Every word of it,” she tutted, making me feel ashamed for reading it even though I knew nothing in the magazine was true. “I can't believe people waste their money on that garbage. If they didn't do that, the magazines wouldn't have the need to print hurtful articles and pictures.”

“You're right. They wouldn't.” I expected her to continue her anti-tabloid rant, maybe indicate that she recognized me as the guy in the magazine. But she didn't. She yawned and closed her eyes. Within minutes, as we pulled away from the gate, her breathing became slow and even.

Exhaustion pulled up a chair, the adrenaline rush from over two hours ago beginning to fade. I shoved the tabloid into the seat pocket in front of me and removed the picture of Hailey from the front pocket in my notebook, the place where I normally kept it. I stroked my finger across her high cheekbone. But the laminated photo was a poor substitute for the flesh-and-blood girl. All the girls I had been with in the past few years had been a poor substitute for the real Hailey. And none of them had cared. They'd only been interested in Tyler Erickson, rising rock star.

That was fine by me. I didn't have the time or interest in something more substantial than that. My career came first.

I opened my notebook. The least I could do while traveling home was work on lyrics for a new song. God knows I hadn't written much while we were on the road. It wasn't practical. You would've thought that with mile after mile of endless highways on the tour, we would've had plenty of time to write. But inspiration for new songs had been sadly lacking.

And it had been that way even before the tour.

Both flights were uneventful, but by the time we landed in Northbridge, Minnesota, I was ready to sleep for a hundred-plus years. It showed in the crappy lyrics I'd managed to scrawl in my notebook. No chart topper there.

I grabbed my sports bag and the woman's suitcase from the overhead compartment, and waited for the passengers in front of me to disembark. As far as I was concerned, they couldn't move fast enough.

As I waited, I turned on my phone to check if Brandon had called. He hadn't, but Jared had. As much as I wanted to avoid this, I couldn't delay it much longer. Even Jared had his limits as to how much of my bullshit he would take.

“Hey, you called,” I said after he answered the phone.

“Where the hell are you?” he replied, sounding like his annoying morning-person self, even though he would've returned to our apartment well after midnight. “You never came home last night.”

I smirked. “Sorry, Mom. Didn't realize I needed to check in with you.”

“Ha ha. Was Mason right? Did you go off with that reporter?”

The line of people in front of me began moving. I followed, eager to get to the baggage claim before they started unloading the luggage. “Why would Mason think that?” I said, stalling.

“Because you held back when the rest of us left. What was he supposed to believe?”

“She wasn't my type.” I didn't have a type, other than the woman with long brown hair who was in a coma.

I entered the building and followed the stream of passengers headed for the baggage claim area.

“US flight 745 to New York City is now getting ready to board,” a female voice announced on the PA system. “Please have your boarding passes and photo ID ready.”

“Why the hell are you at the airport?” Jared asked.

Shit.
“Family emergency.” Not that I had family here or anywhere. Both of my parents had been only children.

“Sorry to hear that. When are you coming back?”

I cringed. “I don't know.”

“Well, as long as you're back in time for us to start working on new material. But that shouldn't be a problem. It's not like you're planning to be gone for two months, right?”

Double shit.
“We don't have two months.” My words were cautious. “Remar told me the label managed to hire Daniel Maynard to produce our album.” I didn't need to tell Jared who Maynard was. Jared's biggest dream was to one day work with the producer. “We're due in the studio December twenty-seventh.”

“Fuck. And when were you planning on telling me this?”

Ignoring the escalator and the passengers herding onto it, I trotted down the stairs. “You make it sound like I was keeping it a secret. I just found out last night, before the concert. I'd planned to tell you sooner but didn't have a chance to last night. Look, as soon as I know when I can come home, I'll let you know. And in the meantime, I'll work on some songs here. There's this wonderful invention called Skype. If worse comes to worst, we can use that.” It wasn't ideal, but it was the best solution I could come up with until I knew more about Hailey's condition.

Jared muttered, “We're screwed.” For now I had to agree with him, but wisely kept that to myself. “So why did Remar want to talk to you and not the rest of the band?”

“Hell if I know. I also have no idea why he arranged the interview instead of Jennifer doing it. I would've thought PR work was beneath him.”

“Good point.”

“But next time he pulls that stunt, I'll remind him we're a group, not a solo act.” The last thing I wanted was unfounded resentment among the guys. We were friends. I wanted it to stay that way.

I told Jared I'd talk to him soon, and ended the call.

I tracked down the flight's assigned baggage carousel. Brandon had beaten me to it and was waiting for me, a weak smile on his face. I gave him a one-armed hug.

“Sorry, dude. No news yet,” he said, already knowing what my first question would be.

“How could this have happened?”

“I don't know. The police interviewed me this morning. They're trying to figure out why she was in Westgate. That's all I know.”

“Westgate? Why the hell would she be there?” The only people who hung out in that part of town were drug dealers and prostitutes. The last I'd heard, Hailey was neither of those.

“Hell if I know. It's not like Hailey keeps me updated on her life. I haven't talked to her much in the past five years. Not after she figured out I was keeping things about you from her.” He shot me a look to remind me how much he'd hated lying to her.

I ignored it and grabbed my guitar off the conveyor belt. Now I was almost complete. As complete as I would ever be.

“Was she…?” I swallowed hard, unable to say the next part but needing to know all the same.

Brandon shook his head. “According to my mom, there were no signs of sexual assault or rape.”

I let out a long breath, and for the first time since Brandon had told me the news about Hailey, a small amount of tension unknotted from my muscles.

We didn't say much else as Brandon drove me to the hospital, mostly because I was exhausted from the combination of touring, last night's show, and then traveling hard since I boarded the plane in L.A. Not once had I slept during the two flights, my mind constantly on Hailey.

“Just so you know,” Brandon said, “you can only stay at my place for three days.”

I lifted an eyebrow. “What, I'm cramping your style?”

He snorted. “Hardly. It's my roommate.”
Ah, the roommate from Nerdsville
. “He's a real stickler for rules, and my apartment will only let us have guests for up to three days. If he wasn't coming back on Wednesday, it wouldn't be an issue. They'd never know.”

“That's okay. I'll find somewhere else to stay.”

“You still have…” His words fizzled at my glare.

“I'm not staying there, so don't even suggest it.”

“You haven't even tried to sell it.”

I shrugged. End of discussion.

Brandon pulled into the hospital parking lot thirty minutes later and took me to the ER, where his mom worked as a nurse. Hailey was in neurology, but he figured my best shot at seeing her would be through his mom. He didn't know if Hailey's parents were at the hospital to grant me permission to see her, and we didn't want to bug them if they weren't. I loved her parents and they had always treated me like a son, but I didn't know what they thought about me after my father had exchanged his engineering career for the title of mass murderer. Maybe they wondered if I would turn out like him.

Fuck knows I'd frequently wondered that myself.

With my hat and sunglasses on, I sat on a plastic chair away from the crowd. Either way, no one paid attention to me, not even to glance in my direction. Everybody there was caught up in the frustration of having to wait so long—caught up in their own private hell.

After I talked to Brandon's mom for a few minutes, she sent me upstairs to neurology.

Pushing on the door to Hailey's room, I removed my hat and sunglasses. A colorful display of flowers, taking up every available surface, greeted me, along with the nose-twitching combination of disinfectant and roses. The people who sent them couldn't have known Hailey very well. The Hailey I remembered thought roses were a cliché.

Hailey's mom glanced up from the seat next to the bed. Her eyes were red from either crying or lack of sleep, or maybe both.

“I'm so glad you came, Nolan.” She stood and threw her arms around me in the way I always remembered her doing, and a pain I hadn't experienced in five years sliced through me. It had been a long time since someone had hugged me this way, this sincerely. Girls were always trying to hug me once they recognized me. But that was because of who I was. Hailey's mom didn't care about any of that. “How did you know?” she asked, pulling away.