The cushion of the chair gives under the weight of my body as I finally take a seat in the auditorium that is quickly filling up with patrons all here to see the premiere of our documentary. I heave a sigh of relief that we’ve made it this far.
This night has been exhausting—from the hours it took to get ready, interview after interview on the red carpet, and the constant barrage of fans and flashing lights from paparazzi. I’ve spent most of the day torn between worrying about Kasen and dying to see Becka.
We’ve been going nonstop for days, meeting with every press person in the state of California—or at least that’s what it feels like. But the endless hours of torture answering the same questions over and over again are nothing compared to the nights without Becka in my arms.
She’s been slammed with work getting everything done for the documentary premiere, and despite my constant efforts, our schedules never seem to match up. I’m trying not to be that clingy guy, but I miss my girl.
I’m so glad it’s opening night, and I’ll finally get to sleep with her tucked in my arms again where she belongs.
Kasen is another story altogether. Miles, Tristan, Robbie, and I have rotated who’s on duty watching him. Robbie took over for the premiere, but it didn’t escape my notice how antsy Kasen was during the red-carpet interviews. He was glued to his phone the whole drive over here, and all I kept wondering was if he was texting Charli. Based on the worried glances I caught Miles and Tristan shooting his way, I wasn’t the only one with that concern.
I wasn’t sure how he’d do during the interviews, but it seems like he pulled it together enough to get through them. He’s a lot calmer now, and it kills me that my first thought is that somehow he was able to sneak a hit of something without us noticing.
We need to have another conversation about what the long-term plan will be to support him because what we’re doing now isn’t sustainable. But that’s a worry for another day.
Right now, all I want is to see Becka and finally feel the serenity that only she can give me. I glance around the room, recognizing some of the faces of those here to see the premiere—other celebrities as well as execs from VibeTV and the PR team we’ve been working with. But there’s no sign of Becka anywhere.
I’m not ashamed to say I’m getting desperate to see her. This is the longest we’ve been apart since we got together after my tour, and I don’t like it.
Right before the documentary is supposed to start, I cave and ask Penny when she walks past where I’m sitting.
“Hey, Penny, where’s Becka? She’s here tonight, right?”
Penny’s sharp gaze scans the audience, a furrow in her brow. “Yeah, she should be. I thought I saw her earlier talking to Simone, but now that you mention it, I haven’t seen her since.”
I glance around the room, my gut starting to feel unsettled. I think back to the last time I saw Becka—when we had a quickie in her office a few days ago. Nothing was amiss when I left. She had a smile on her face and that just-fucked look in her eyes that I’ve become addicted to.
No signs of anything brewing in that beautiful, wonderful, overthinking brain of hers. I thank Penny, and when she walks away, I pull out my phone and send Becka a text. I’m not going to play games with her.
My knee bounces restlessly as I wait for her to respond. When my phone buzzes in my hand, I react like an addict eager for my next hit, quickly clicking on her message and reading it, searching for answers that it doesn’t reveal.
I text her again and my brow instantly furrows in concern when she responds with another similarly vague answer. Frustration joins the concern brewing in my gut as she dodges my questions with mostly one-word answers. Until finally she sends a blow that I should’ve seen coming.
Becka: I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry. I thought I could, but I think it’s too much for me.
I don’t respond. I know better. Something happened, and I’ll figure out what the hell it was because no way in hell am I losing this woman. I love her enough to love her through her crazy irrational freak-outs. She’s going to have to do a whole hell of a lot more than that if she thinks she can drive me away.
Just as the lights dim around the room signaling the start of the documentary, I shoot off one more text, to Will this time.
If Becka won’t tell me what’s going on, then I’ll find out another way.