Page 32 of Not Another Rockstar
This is why he came here, not because I hadn’t been replying,she thought, remaining on the other side of the kitchen table.
“It wasn’t because of what happened between us,” she said, putting the bloody cotton wool in the bin. “I needed some breathing room and I’ve been focusing on my physio and keeping up with my orders to distract me from all the chaos online.”
When she turned around, her eyes landed on her purple notebook in his hand. Instantly, she forgot about the spray paint, the break-in, even their kiss.
“Why do you have that?” A cold sweat caused her to shiver. “I thought I lost that in the accident.”
It was the only remaining evidence that she had helped write their songs. She wondered what the fans who hated her would think of their precious Cillian if they knew he had been taking credit for her work for years. All the lyrics they quoted, screamed at concerts, sang in the shower and tattooed on their skin were hers, not his. Well, theirs.
“I came here to tell you that we need each other.” Axel put the notebook on the paint-splattered table beside them. The kitchen was the best place to mix paints, even if it made the room look like a Jackson Pollock painting. She listened. “You clearly need protection, and the band needs songs. Anita is trying her best to hold off the label, but they want to use all the publicity to their advantage.” Axel’s words dripped with disgust.
“Death is free advertising. But why come to me? Everything you need is in there.” Phoebe scoffed, putting the cap back on the disinfectant. At least the police were on the way so Axel couldn’t stay long. She wanted to start cleaning up the mess outside.
“Because you left this in my tour bus that day—”
She cut him off. “I didn’t write them alone. The lyrics, yes, but Cillian did the arranging with you guys. Keep the notebook, use it as you please.” She backed away like the notebook was a weapon.
“Were you ever going to tell the band you’ve been writing their songs?” he asked, following her until she backed into the fridge.
‘Were you ever going to tell me my dead fiancé was cheating on me?”
He took a deep breath at that.
“Sorry, that wasn’t fair,” she said. They had all apologised enough.
“I think him taking credit for your work is worse than cheating,” Axel added, giving her some space as he went to stand by the sink.
“Spoken like a man who has never been in love.” She crossed her arms over her chest, and he waited for her to continue. “I didn’t want the credit. Seeing him happy on stage, singing our songs was reward enough.”
“Loving you would’ve meant giving you the credit you deserved,” Axel huffed, putting his jacket back on. “If we’d known, we wouldn’t have given Cillian so many chances. The reason we thought he was acting out, drinking, partying, was because of the pressure the studio had him under to produce a new album, but it was you writing them this whole time.”
“Have you told the others?” Phoebe said, afraid of what he would say.
“No, but can you tell me why you had it that night in Munich?”
“I wanted to surprise him with the finished songs. It took me longer than expected to add the final touches because of my art show,” she confessed, and it felt good to tell the truth. “I didn’trealise the toll it was taking on Cillian. This was the only time he relied on my input so much.”
“He was partying it up while you were doing his work for him,” Axel scoffed, his leg bouncing.
“Can you stop making this worse? I hate him enough at the minute already,” she snapped.
“Sorry, but I’ve got to tell the others. They deserve to know, and I won’t continue this lie. Nick would kill me if he found out that I’d kept this from him.”
“They’re grieving, you can’t put this on them. Why can’t you leave it alone?” she asked, not wanting him to complicate her life any further.
Axel hesitated. “I won’t tell them for now, but we have to tell them at some point. Cillian doesn’t deserve to have us lying for him anymore.”
Phoebe couldn’t argue. Though she wondered if he was being so hard on Cillian because of his own grief. They had never been super close, but after five years living in the same house and being on the road together, they had a brotherly bond—and that didn’t always mean they had to like each other.
“How can you be okay with someone, anyone, using your work?” he asked softly. “What if someone was copying your artwork and reselling it?”
There was no point in discussing something he couldn’t understand. She went to him and took his hand.
“Please just use the songs, I don’t care what you do with them. I don’t want anything, please just take it, and think of it as a gift. Happy birthday and Christmas,” she added, trying to get him to accept it so they could move on. “It’s only one more album, and if you don’t take it, then you’ll have to face Anita with no songs. You’ve got enough to deal with without having to come up with a new album. Just say thank you.”
Axel studied their joined hands. He stared at the long scar along her thumb, and he let out a sigh. “I can’t say no to you. So, thank you,” he conceded, putting the notebook back inside his jacket. “But you have to agree that we will tell them?”
She nodded eagerly. “Not now, but soon.”
