Page 38 of Not Your Golden Boy

Charlotte gave him two thumbs up again, and even though the gesture felt scripted and cliché, she looked more awake than she had. She leaned over and spoke into the mic, “I love it, Nikky. We definitely need to talk about your music once we have a second.”

“Okay,” Nikky said with a smile.

Albion said something to Charlotte which Nikky didn’t hear. He’d turned off the mic, and it looked like the two of them were arguing again. Strangely enough, Nikky didn’t really care. He didn’t care if Albion made him record songs that weren’t him at all. It was just one album. Fans would see through it if it wasn’t authentic. He could record something else that reflected who he was later.

Those thoughts took him by surprise and made him laugh. “Wow,” he said, shaking his head and reaching into his back pocket for his phone, which had been on silent for days. Harry would be so proud of him for thinking of everything rationally instead of tying himself in knots.

He’d reached for his phone intending to send Harry a text, bragging about how mature he’d suddenly become and attributing his new attitude to being fucked into the mattress the night before.

Two other texts were waiting for him when he tapped his phone.

The first was from Drew. “We’re back in London. Dinner tonight? Don’t be one of those people who puts their boyfriend over their best friend.”

Nikky would have laughed at that and texted Drew back immediately to make plans, but the second text knocked the wind out of him and made him feel sick.

It was from Holberg.

“I saw those naughty pics of you. I know who you’re keeping company with now. Didn’t I warn you about the consequences of dating anyone else?”

The guitar Nikky was still holding almost slipped to the floor. Holberg had sent the message only half an hour before, and there was a second one.

“I’m in London, by the way. We need to talk.”

twelve

​. . .​

The rest of the recording session slipped by in a panicked haze. Nikky’s heart wasn’t in it anymore, which Albion noticed. Fortunately for Nikky, he’d tried to get him to play some of the ridiculous pop songs for Charlotte, and they sounded worse than ever.

“Clearly, Nikky knows what sort of music suits his voice and talent,” Charlotte commented when the three of them went out to lunch together. “What’s the purpose of having him play all that kiddie music anyhow?”

Nikky should have been grateful that his manager was sticking up for his true best interests and not the things that would benefit her and the person Hollywood wanted him to be, but he was too busy checking out the open area surrounding the café where they were eating to pay full attention.

“I know what sells,” Albion argued. “I’ve been making hit records and creating stars for decades.”

“Nikky is already a star,” Charlotte said. “He shot to fame in a show that was far more adult than the fluffy tunes you’re trying to get him to play.”

“He’s never going to be an international recording star singing indie nonsense.”

“He’ll sell records regardless of what he’s singing,” Charlotte countered. “He’s already got a name and a huge fan base.”

Even though he was only half paying attention to the conversation, it settled like a rock in Nikky’s stomach anyhow. Charlotte was probably right, but knowing he’d sell records simply because the fans couldn’t get enough of him and not because the music he created from his heart and soul was good wasn’t what he wanted at all. He wanted his music and his talent to speak for him.

Probably because he’d never been very good at speaking for himself.

That had to end if he was going to get to the places he wanted to go in life.

“Excuse me,” he said, standing and taking a step back from the table. “I need to make a phone call.”

He began to turn and walk away, but something inside of him, something that had Harry’s warmth and strength wrapped around it but had been pulsing within him for a long time, made him stop and turn back.

“I want to record my own music,” he said. “I’m not interested in being someone else’s mouthpiece. I do enough of that through acting. Music was always supposed to be the way I expressed my deepest self.” He looked straight at Albion and repeated, “I want to record my own music or nothing at all.” And then, as the terror of what he’d just said and done started to creep up on him from the pit of his already unsettled stomach, he murmured, “Excuse me,” again and turned to stride away from the table.

Brave as he’d been, as Nikky left the café, he couldn’t catch his breath. He only made it halfway down the street before he had to stop and press his back against the wall of the building beside the café to ground himself. He reached a hand into his pocket to grab his phone, but once he had it, he leaned his head back against the stone and closed his eyes to just breathe for a second.

The sounds and smells of London swirled around him, the traffic and the ambient noise of people going about their business. A siren sounded in the distance and a few horns honked in argument with each other. Underpinning it all was the low roar of cars passing and the distant thrum of a plane flying overhead. It was all so similar to L.A., and at the same time, strangely different.

When he opened his eyes at last, the world continued to buzz around him, passing him by as if he were no one. In that moment, he was no one. No one was looking at him or smiling with recognition. No one eyed him like they were about to approach for a selfie. No one bothered him at all.