Chapter Text

“Everyone has heard of Fallon Carrington, and if you haven’t heard her name, then you have at least heard her incessantly catchy pop music playing on the radio. Her rise to fame was quick, but not unexpected, considering her already privileged background. As the daughter of Blake Carrington, her life was expected to follow in his footsteps. However, at the age of 21, she left the family home when her brother, Adam, was made COO of Carrington Atlantic, and she was shunned from the family company forcing her to take her own path. Her “talent” was spotted by music producer, Michael Culhane, famous for producing the platinum hit ‘Search Me’ for the Colby Twins. It is probably the only decent hit he has ever made. Fallon is prolific for being a diva and getting what she wants, which is perhaps why she started to date Culhane in 2016 to ensure she could continue to infect our ears with auto-tuned factory produced garbage. Playing tonight at the Greenacre Arena in Atlanta, I will endure what I can only imagine being 2 and a half hours of torture being surrounded by screaming teenage girls, but I remain optimistic as ever. She will likely lip sync... If I’m lucky. Review to follow in the morning.

“Well, that’s just rude.” Fallon throws her phone onto the overcrowded vanity in front of her, using every restraint she has to resist reading the comments on the offensive blog post. Whilst she had the resilience to no longer take critics words to heart, there is still a bitter aftertaste of resentment lingering on her tongue. She has no doubt in her mind where her blueprint for her poor reaction to criticism comes from; spending most of her life striving to gain the approval of her bull-headed father – and failing to acquire it - had made her both strong but cripplingly anxious at the same time.

But, if there was one thing Blake Carrington has passed onto his only daughter which was actually useful to her life, it’s that she can compartmentalise her feelings, pushing them away and forgetting about them. A therapist would tell her that it isn’t healthy behaviour, but she really does not care less, because the alternative would be to feel and that quite frankly is not an option when the whole world is watching her every move.

She looks up at her reflection in the illuminated mirror of the dressing room and takes in a deep breath to calm her pre-concert jitters. Despite already spending four solid, hard-working years in the music industry, butterflies still attack her stomach every time – that fear of judgement creeping in. To make matters worse, she knows this critic is sitting in the arena with his preconceptions about her and her ‘factory-produced garbage’.

She touches up her red lipstick, mainly to give her hands something to do, and definitely to ensure she can’t provide the fashion critics with the opportunity to drag her down for her appearance too.

“Fallon, seriously, you’re on in 5 minutes,” her assistant rolls his eyes, tapping at the headset pressed against his ears and holding up the clipboard in his hands for added emphasis, “you shouldn’t be reading negative comments before going on stage, we’ve talked about this. It will mess with your energy.”

The singer raises an eyebrow, both in question and amusement.

“My energy?” She smirks at her own reflection in the mirror, double-checking for any imperfections, using her fingers to add volume to her curled hair, “au contraire Sam, it only fuels me to prove them wrong.”

And that’s how she does it.

She convinces everyone else that she isn’t fazed, that the fire in her soul burns out any criticism that comes her way, that she’s powerful, unaffected, strong. After a while, she even manages to convince herself of that fact.

“Whatever works to get you fired up to give a show-stopping performance I suppose,” Sam replies, checking his watch, “four minutes left. We need to go.”

Fallon takes an involuntary sharp breath in – and on the exhale she disguises it as a sigh. She grabs her phone from the haphazard position she’d thrown it in and stands. 

The screen lights up, the picture and name familiar. Her chest instantly feels tight at the sight of it, the last thing she needs right now is her most prominent critic of all, her producer, putting doubt into her mind about her ability.

Perhaps Sam was actually onto something when he was talking about negative energy.

“Don’t answer that until I’m on stage,” she throws Sam’s way, passing the cell to him.

Sam nods once in submission.

As the pair make their way through the narrow hallways towards the stage, Fallon tunes her hearing into the sound of the crowd, which is growing increasingly louder. She tries to use the thousands of people chanting her name, idolising her, providing validation as a way to drown out the insecurities swimming around in her head, triggered by one irrelevant blog post.

She speaks to herself, repeating a mantra, a reminder that she was the one in charge of her destiny and that she is in control. It silences the demons running around in her head, temporarily.

I wasn’t shunned from CA.

I chose to leave.

I’m engaged to Culhane because I love him, not so that I can keep my career.

I hardly even use any auto-tune. No more so than every other pop star out there.

If she says it to herself enough times, even she starts to believe it.

Once she reaches her destination, her crew bombards her, fitting her mic and earpieces, throwing her instructions to last-minute changes to her arrangement. It’s a welcomed distraction, flicking a switch in her mind, keeping the emotions at arm’s length so that she can put on her metaphorical battle armour. 

They count her down, the crowd erupting in response to hearing the intro music, recognising the song instantly.

She forces a smile and steps out into the spotlight.

~

[Atlanta GA, September 20^th – Fallon Carrington live at the Greenacre Arena – Encore. Closing Song – Leave It At That]

Why are you trying to question me right now?

Ain’t no way you’ve got the moral high ground,

Don’t appreciate a man if he can’t handle some fire,

Trying to accuse me of being dishonest, but you’re the liar

Yes, it’s true that we all know,

Darling ‘round here you’re the liar,

Ooh Ooh, I can’t think of any reason for you to know,

Ahh Ahh, anything that I’m thinking,

Let’s just leave it at that, yeah let’s just leave it at that.

Ooh Ooh, I can’t think of any reason for you to know,

Ahh Ahh, anything that I’m thinking,

Let’s just leave it at that, yeah let’s just leave it at that.

Now you’re going spreading rumours around,

Hear everyone whispering them in the town,

It’s a shame you have no idea what I’m capable of,

Revenge is sweet and it’s only made sweeter when you’ve fallen out of love

Yes, it’s true that we all know,

Darling ‘round here you’re the liar,

Ooh Ooh, I can’t think of any reason for you to know,

Ahh Ahh, anything that I’m thinking,

Let’s just leave it at that, yeah let’s just leave it at that.

Ooh Ooh, I can’t think of any reason for you to know,

Ahh Ahh, anything that I’m thinking,

Let’s just leave it at that, yeah let’s just leave it at that.

You should have expected this all along when you began to realise

I’m not an angel in disguise

I’m not an angel in disguise

Ooh Ooh, I can’t think of any reason for you to know,

Ahh Ahh, anything that I’m thinking,

Let’s just leave it at that, yeah let’s just leave it at that.

Ooh Ooh, I can’t think of any reason for you to know,

Ahh Ahh, anything that I’m thinking,

Let’s just leave it at that, yeah let’s just leave it at that.

“Atlanta, my home town, you have been amazing tonight. Thank you so much!”

The crew immediately swarm around her the second she’s backstage to de-mic her, handing her a towel so that she can cool down, holding water for her to drink. It allows her a moment to catch her breath before she has to face the comedown of adrenaline.

Sam approaches once Fallon is released by that particular team, intent on walking her back down the corridor into the dressing room; ensuring she is always in a specific place in any given time which works with everyone else’s schedules.

It’s a stark reminder that the majority of her life is determined by other people.

Fallon takes notice of the forlorn expression on Sam’s face as he wordlessly passes her phone over.

She’s still out of breath, her heart still pounding heavily in her chest, but she takes it anyway and holds it out in front of her, the face of her producer-stroke-fiancé looking back at her.

“Baby you were amazing tonight,” the voice through the phone’s speakers enounce enthusiastically.  

Sam looks away, listens to some instructions through his earpiece, attempting to give the couple some modicum of privacy.

“You’re sure you could tell over Facetime?” Fallon responds, feeling pressure on her elbow as she is led back towards her dressing room.

“Yeah, I mean I caught most of it,” Culhane responds.

She can’t help but roll her eyes at that – she is still bitter about him refusing to go with her on the last leg of her tour, choosing instead to work on an album for the Colby’s in LA. To make it worse, she can already hear the disapproval in his voice, she knows what’s coming from him.

“So, what? Come on, spit it out,” she insists as she rounds a corner.  

“Baby, come on. What did I tell you about the arrangement for that last song?”

The criticism stings.

The high Fallon’s riding from the rush of adrenaline is extinguished, Culhane metaphorically pulling a rug from under her.

“I wasn’t flat,” She insists, turning her attention to her assistant, “Sam, was I flat?”

Sam shakes his head, “no, not at all.”

“See?” Fallon smiles triumphantly into the front camera.

She hears Culhane sigh through the small speakers, “look I know I’m your fiancé, but I am also your producer, so it is my job to tell you when something isn’t working.”

Her blood pressure rises instantly, and it’s like these dark and narrow corridors can’t provide enough air for her to breathe, choking her. Unfortunately, it’s a feeling that she’s familiar with. It’s rejection, criticism, hurt.

She pushes it away.

“Michael, can we seriously not do this right now?” She begs.

She watches on the screen as he subtly shakes his head with pursed lips, “sure, we have a meeting on Monday anyway.”

It isn't necessarily the answer she is looking for, but she supposes it's enough to get him off her back.

“Fine, I’ll call you later.”

She hits the end call button before giving him the chance to respond, feeling instant relief when their communication ends.

The second she re-enters the dressing room she slams the door shut on Sam’s face, needing a moment alone.

“Fuck you!” She screams at the phone in her hand, cursing at the blank screen just to let out her emotions.

The show was good, she made sure it was, pushing herself hard just to prove the critic she knew was sitting in the front row wrong.

Her throat is already hurting from stretching her vocal cords, sore from making sure he could hear that she doesn’t need any autotune to sound good. Her songs may be generic and ‘radio-friendly’, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have real talent.

And yet, she was just slated by her own fiance, regardless.

She needs a drink.

“Sam!”

The door swings open.

“There isn’t any liquor Fallon, and no, I’m not going to get you any,” he says with confidence.

“Fine,” she shrugs, “then we’re going out.”

“Actually, I have plans. I’m going to see my Aunt whilst we’re actually in town.”

She rolls her eyes, sighing, “you have to be kidding me?”

“No, and you should come too. You should see your family,” Sam insists.

Oh, god, no.

The thought alone causes bile to rise in her stomach, triggering her fight or flight response.

“That’s going to have to be a hard pass,” Fallon responds resolutely.

“Fine, I’ll tell security to escort you,” Sam responds, throwing her a fake smile, “don’t get too drunk. See you in the morning!”

The door slams shut.

Fallon can’t help the smirk forming on her face. Despite Sam being a royal pain the ass and being pretty much the worst assistant ever by constantly defying her, he was, granted, also the best assistant she’s ever had for keeping her on the straight and narrow. She could count on her hand the number of people in her life who had the guts to stand up to her, so she couldn’t help but have respect for the man.

That being said, his suggestion to visit her family’s manor sounded worse than a trip to hell. Fallon can only imagine having to endure hearing her brother brag about his latest deal for CA and how proud their father is of him. Then, of course, there is perfect Cristal, Sam’s Aunt, with her passive-aggressive remarks, and worst of all, being under the scrutiny of her Father’s unapproving glare.

She shudders at the thought… A solo trip to a bar it is.

~

Fallon dresses modestly, putting on a pair of leather pants and a black top, not wanting to bring any unwanted attention to herself. She throws on a maroon velvet jacket which matches her heels and heads towards her limo, waiting at the back of the arena.

Fallon isn’t sure what overcomes her when she gives her driver instructions to go to the Old Courthouse Piano Lounge. It’s an out-of-date hipster bar usually filled with local singer-songwriters playing sets to an unforgiving crowd. She knows that to be the case, because once upon a time, she had been one of those artists. Well, her and her brother.

As the memories of those days resurface, she feels a lump forming in her throat.

It’s impossible to pinpoint the emotions thinking about her brother, Steven, stirs inside of her. Usually, she just feels an unrelenting tidal wave of hurt which pushes her to the brink and then as it is pulls away, leaves her feeling empty inside.

The relationship she has with the eldest of the Carrington children was much different from the middle child, Steven. Blake always joked that Fallon is merely the female version of Adam, they’re both determined, confident and almost replicas of the man himself.

Steven, however, was so different. There was a kindness to him that no other Carrington possessed and he had an addictive personality. People would naturally gravitate towards him. He had the ability to bring out the best in others, which was definitely the case for her. Steven was the only person in the world who could see past her walls, who knew that buried deep down was a broken girl, desperately trying to please her parents, wanting to just be loved. To be enough.

But Steven had demons of his own, and he threw himself into booze and drugs, which was destructive for him, but really fun for everyone else who was in his social circle.

As they travel through her home-city, she stares out of the darkened windows, recalling all of the nights her and Steven would sneak out of the Carrington Manor to the Courthouse Lounge on open mic nights, armed with their fake ID’s. They’d get drunk on cheap wine, he’d play the piano, and she’d sing her favorite songs for the audience.

They were a duo, and she thought she would spend the rest of her life with him by her side.

But he wasn’t.

He left her.

Her eyes close briefly, feeling the memories piercing her skull like a knife, and she almost changes her mind, regretting her choice of destination. Then her eyes open, and she sees the familiar glow of neon lights outside the black brick building, and as the car pulls outside the entrance, there’s an indescribable force drawing her in that she cannot defy.

Almost against her will, she opens the door and steps out onto the pavement, a small, melancholic smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she makes her way inside.

Besides, a huge bonus about the bar is that it is pretty off the grid, so without any paparazzi waiting outside it’s easy for her to go in unnoticed. Of course, her two bodyguards still follow her into the crowded bar, but stand subtly to the side, allowing her to find a darkly lit seat at the bar so that she can order a drink.

She doesn’t recognise the young bartender when he approaches and takes her order, but granted, it has been about seven years since she last stepped a foot into this place.

Looking around, she notices the new furniture and updated lounge. With all respects, she thinks it seems almost unrecognisable, with one exception; a neon sign above the stage twisted into the words ‘You Are Exactly Where You Need To Be’. Fallon turns in her seat to see it thoroughly, and it almost feels like she’s looking through the lens of her 18 year old self again. A young girl, without any clue as to what tragedy was about to happen in her life, full of optimism, full of hope.

“So, are you enjoying the show?” The bartender asks, breaking her out of her nostalgic thoughts, and places a martini down. With the way that he’s looking at her she can tell that he recognises her – but is trying to play it cool.

“Oh, I only just got here,” she returns, handing over her credit card.

“Shame,” he replies, pointing to the stage clearly set up for a gig - but missing the artist. “He’s really good. Plays here every month. He only has one song left, it’s his encore.”

That explains the strange vibe of the place then, she thinks. The crowd are hovering, the music low, the lights brighter than they should be. Almost like they were waiting for something to happen.

She smiles back politely but doesn’t bother to continue the conversation, preferring to stir her drink to dull her racing thoughts. After all, she is here for the alcohol, not to listen to a semi-decent signer who doesn’t even have a record deal.

Moments later, the lights dim, and the small crowd on the dancefloor erupt into applause.

Fallon remains with her back turned to the stage, staring down at her drink.

“Thank you,” a husky voice speaks through the mic once the crowd dies down a little. Fallon hears a stroke of guitar strings. “I hope you’ve had a good evening, this will be my last song of the night. I wrote it a few months ago when my fiancé and I broke up.”

She hears a few ‘awws’ come from the crowd, causing her to roll her eyes, figuring she has much worse problems right now. Like being alone, in her home city, whilst almost everyone she knows is judging her from the Carrington manor right now for not having the guts to turn up and face her family after being away on tour for months.

The man at the mic huffs a laugh, “nah, it’s not sad, really. In fact, it was probably the best thing for us. I’ll uh, I’ll let the song tell you all about it. This is ‘Glad You’re Gone’.”

A pretty melody starts on the piano whilst he continues to play the guitar.

[Atlanta GA, September 20^th – Live at the The Old Courthouse Piano Lounge – Encore. Closing Song – Glad You’re Gone]

Listen closely my dear,

I can’t forget this year,

You’ve used me, abused me and left me all alone here,

It’s her blood running cold which she notices first, then tingles down her arm, leaving bumps in its wake.

That voice.

It’s rich and soulful, reminding her of a well-bodied bottle of vintage merlot on a summer night, and unlike anything she’s ever heard before.

She’s compelled, instantly.

Once she turns her head to finally get a look at the young man singing on stage she’s taken back, her eyes widening to take in his handsome features, his ash brown hair and light eyes complimented by a brown leather jacket which accentuates his broad shoulders.

It’s like he draws the room into him, captivating the audience with his charm, and when she realises she is unable to look away, she knows she’s under his spell too.

Listen closely,

Listen closely,

You’ve made it all too clear,

There’s only one thing I fear,

How will you be able to handle the tears?

So walk away from our life,

Can’t look me in the eyes,

Illusion of paradise,

We’re paying the wrong price,

I wish we never tried,

It’s hurt both of our prides,

Now I’ve lost a friend,

It’s a tragic way to end,

But I couldn’t keep up the lie,

It was killing us inside,

We’re free from this hell,

I’ll always wish you well,

I wish this wasn’t true,

But I know you feel it too,

I’m glad you’re gone,

I’m glad you’re gone,

What scares me the most,

Is that we came so close,

A beautiful life wrapped up in a lie so,

Listen closely,

Listen closely,

How are we going to explain this?

When we can’t even figure out what’s a-miss?

It would be easier if you fell in love with someone else,

So walk away from our life,

Can’t look me in the eyes,

Illusion of paradise,

We’re paying the wrong price,

I wish we never tried,

It’s hurt both of our prides,

Now I’ve lost a friend,

It’s a tragic way to end,

But I couldn’t keep up the lie,

It was killing us inside,

We’re free from this hell,

I’ll always wish you well,

I wish this wasn’t true,

But I know you feel it too,

I’m glad you’re gone,

I’m glad you’re gone,

It’s okay,

I’d rather not fake it,

This just can’t be what we want it to be.

Listen to me this one time, listen to me.

I couldn’t keep up the lie,

It was killing us inside,

We’re free from this hell,

I’ll always wish you well,

I wish this wasn’t true,

But I know you feel it too,

I’m glad you’re gone,

I’m glad you’re gone.

The singer smiles, his whole face lighting up in what she can tell is genuine, heartfelt earnest as the entire club applauds him.

“Thank you,” he says as he places his guitar down by his side, and leans back into the mic, “uh, I hope you have a great night. I’m Liam Ridley, and I am on Spotify… If you were interested.”

Fallon involuntary huffs out a laugh, realising the guy is also charismatic. Her eyes follow him as he picks up his guitar and walks off stage, going through a door she knows leads to the rooms in the back.

She feels compelled to follow him.

“Hey,” she shouts over to the bartender to get his attention and once he’s close enough to hear her, continues, “so, I used to play here all the time with my brother.”

The bartender looks surprised, “really?”

“Yeah, I know the owner, Jim. We go way back, do you mind if I go and say hi?” She asks, leaning forward so he can hear her over the sound of everyone suddenly rushing towards the bar to order drinks.

“Sure, do you know where his office is?” the bartender responds.

Fallon nods and points to the door beside the stage, “through there, third door on the right.”

“That’s the one,” he confirms, “yeah no problem, I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you.”

“Thanks,” she calls, then mouths ‘one minute’ to her bodyguards before hopping down from her stool and making her way through the stage door, entering the familiar hallway.

The second the heavy door closes behind her, she’s attacked by memories.

She sees her and Steven in her mind’s eye like ghosts, still lingering down this corridor, waiting for their cue to go on stage. Glammed up, looking much older than they were, confidence etched into every bone of their bodies. Steven would always shoot her a grin, a silent conversation between the two that they had one another’s backs, no matter what.

The owner always knew that Fallon was underage when they would play here, but considering they never caused any trouble, he would simply turn a blind eye. Jim would often order them pizza from Joe’s across the street, and he’d been the one to convince them that they had a shot in the music industry, giving them all of the connections he had.

She’s curious to see him again, especially considering she hasn’t attempted to speak to him in years.

Her hand is poised to knock on his office door until she catches a glimpse of the dressing room in her peripheral vision.

She hesitates as she feels compelled to walk over, admitting to herself that the real reason she had wanted to come back here wasn’t to see Jim, it was to talk to that singer.

Liam, was it?

So instead, she hesitantly knocks on the dressing room door.

Inside, she hears a “one second” before the door opens.

“Whoa,” they say, simultaneously.

She could tell he was handsome from the stage, but up close, she can now see his features clearly. His eyes draw her in immediately, taking note of how strikingly blue they are as they bore into hers, almost like he can see into her soul. Then her eyes involuntarily travel down his topless form, and her breath catches in her throat as she takes in his defined muscles.

Oh my god, he’s hot.

It isn’t until she has to swallow from her mouth practically watering at the sight of him that she realises that she should really stop staring quite so obviously.

Her eyes snap back up.

“Hi,” she smiles, suddenly uncharacteristically shy.

“Hi,” he breathes back, clearly a little starstruck as he stares at her with disbelief written across his features.

“I’m guessing from that reaction that you know who I am?” She asks.

“Uh…” Liam shakes his head, blinking rapidly, “yeah of course,” he looks flustered for a moment before he recomposes himself, “it’s Fallon, right? I’m Liam,” he extends his hand to shake hers, “it’s nice to meet you.”

Fallon puts her hand in his and is surprised to feel an instant pulse of warm energy as their skin makes contact, like electricity sizzling between them. Their eyes meet immediately, both wondering if the other had felt it too.

“Would you like to come in?” Liam asks.

“Sure, yeah, thanks,” Fallon responds as she lets her hand drop to her side, feeling a sense of loss.

The young singer moves to the side, keeping the door open for her. She steps in, glancing around, taking in the unchanged décor. It’s exactly the same as it used to be, in fact, the slight yellowing of the walls and flaking of the paint is the only indication that seven years have passed.

Liam lets the door swing closed behind them, and in the moment of slightly awkward silence, she becomes hyper-aware that they’re now completely alone.

“So,” Liam is the first to break the silence, “what exactly is it that brings you, Fallon Carrington…” He darts his eyes around, silently inviting Fallon to take in the shabby the room, “Here? I mean, Jim always talks about how you used to play here all the time but honestly he’s kind of old now, and I wasn’t entirely sure whether or not I believed him.”

She lets out a chuckle in response, “it’s true, actually. Yeah, I used to play here with my brother. It feels like forever ago, but I guess I was feeling nostalgic, so I decided to pay him a visit, and I was pleasantly surprised,” she admits, looking him dead in the eyes, “by you.”

That catches his attention.

His eyebrows raise, encouraging her to continue.

“Being here is a little painful in terms of the memories it holds, but, I’m glad I came. I wasn’t here for your whole set, but I heard your last song, and I just wanted to come back here so that I could tell you that I thought you were pretty good.”

His eyes widen, clearly taken back by the compliment, “wow, well, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she returns, taking in his smile, noticing an adorable dimple on his cheek. A feeling of sadness begins creeping up on her, like that was the end of the conversation and she isn’t entirely sure what to say now. All she knows is that she has to think of something, she can’t just walk out of here and never see this alluring man again, “and I also wanted to ask if you would like to have a drink with me?”

Fallon knows it’s forward, but, she also knows that sometimes in life, being forward is often the only way to ever get what you truly want.

“Yeah,” he replies, a smirk beginning to play at his lips, “maybe uh, let me put a shirt on, though?” He laughs, pointing to his topless form, “and then I’ll be right out?”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea, I mean I know the dress code in this place is pretty slack but I think clothes are part of the requirements,” she jokes.

“Well, I could go out now and see what they say…” He suggests, his tone obviously flirtatious.

Him going out there topless after she has just walked into the room? It’s pretty clear to her what people would think.

“Oh, I think they’ll just assume we were doing something,” she searches for the right word, “deviant, in here.” 

She realises instantly that she shouldn’t have said that when the chemistry between them doubles in strength.

Their attraction to each other is obvious, and there’s no doubt in her mind that both of them are now imagining the two of them doing just that. One look into Liam’s eyes, his pupils dilated, confirms it, and she chews on her bottom lip, breathing in the heavy air between them.

She has to look away to break this spell he has her under.

“I will be at the bar,” she announces, motioning with her head towards the door.

Liam nods, “okay.”

“Okay? See you in…” She feels awkward putting a particular time to it, she isn’t trying to put him on a schedule or anything, “in a… while.”

She heads for the door, looking back as he replies, “sure, only a short while.”

“Good, okay. In a short while,” Fallon returns, smiling.

The second she is on the other side of the door, taking in the sound from the bar in the distance, her brain tries, and fails to catch up with what the hell just happened.

~

Liam was right, he didn’t leave her waiting long, it was five, maybe ten minutes at the most by the time he re-emerges from the stage door.

Her head turns instantly, feeling her breath leave her at the sight of him. He’s wearing a dark shirt and that brown leather jacket again, and when he spots her and smiles, she knows her anticipation must have been written all over her face.

He takes the stool next to her, and as he sits, the smell of his masculine cologne fills her senses. She doesn’t recognise the brand, but it’s a satisfying mixture of leather, bergamot and citrus, and she decides that it suits the enigma of man sitting beside her perfectly.

“Hey,” he says warmly once he’s sat down, and suddenly she wishes she’d picked a booth because at least there would be a table between them, rather than his thigh being only centimetres away from hers.

“Hey,” she returns with a smile, “I didn’t know what to order you, so I figured I’d just wait,” she responds, motioning with her hand towards the bar.

“Oh,” Liam smiles, “well, I’m a pretty simple guy,” he says as he gets the attention of the bartender. “Just a scotch for me and-” he pauses, looking back at Fallon to allow her to order her own drink.

It’s a simple thing, but honestly, she was kind of used to the man in her life ordering her drink for her, assuming he knows exactly what she wants. She’s never bothered to correct him, fearing she would hurt his feelings if she told him that usually all she wants, is a good whisky.

“Same, please,” she says to the bartender, willing her cheeks not to tinge pink as she swoons slightly at Liam’s chivalry.

His eyebrows raise in surprise, admiration on his expression and she throws back a challenging smirk.

“Alright, I like it,” he says, nodding.

Fallon knows she doesn’t need his approval at all, but she really couldn’t help that feeling of elation the moment he gives it.

“So, didn’t you have a gig tonight?” He asks her.

“Yeah, I did,” she responds, trying her best to forget it.

“And now you’re here, alone?” He asks, and she figures he’s still trying to understand what would compel her to come to this out-of-date bar, by herself, and there’s something sweet about it. Like he doesn’t want her to be alone.

“Yes, thank you for pointing that out.”

He huffs out a laugh, “I just mean, I’m surprised that you’d be here without a huge clan of friends is all.”

A huge clan of friends is something that she does not have. Culhane is the sociable one in their relationship, and as a result, most of his friends were just her friends through association. But she figures that’s not something she needs to tell a complete stranger.

Fallon waves her hand, dismissively, “oh, they all had plans.”

They break eye contact for a moment as the bartender places their drinks on the bar in front of them, then pats Liam on the shoulder, telling him it’s on the house for such a great set that night. Liam thanks him, his smile genuine and Fallon simply cannot stop staring at it.

“Anyway,” he takes his drink into his hand and holds it up. Fallon takes her own, mirroring him, “I’m glad they all had plans.”

Her stomach flips.

She has no idea why.

“Yeah,” she says softly, “me too.”

They meet in the middle, clinking the glasses together before both of them take a large mouthful of the amber liquid. It burns her throat, warms her stomach, and keeps her lightheaded enough to keep her inhibitions intact, but drives away the anxieties; just the way she wants it to be.

“So, I have a question… Is that actually you in that photograph?” Liam points towards the back of the bar where there’s an array of Polaroid photographs pinned to a corkboard, she follows his finger, scanning the photos and sees it. Sees him.

Her heart lurches.

“Uh, yeah, that looks like me,” she returns, and grabs the attention of the bartender again, “excuse me, could I see that photo, please?”

“Sure,” he replies, pointing at the photo in question, “this one?”

She nods her head and says thank you once he unpins it from the board and passes it over to her, pressing the plastic into her palm.

There’s a part of her which is scared to look down. From the bar's distance, she was able to make out the silhouettes of herself and Steven, him at the piano, her at the mic. But looking at it closely, she just knows it’s going to stir up feelings she has long pushed back and in front of this stranger, who for some unknown reason she is attempting to impress… what is she thinking?

But Fallon can’t help herself.

She has to see it.

Her eyes glance down to take in the details. She estimates that she must have been about 18 at the time, judging from her choice of clothes and hair. The photo was taken on the front row of her singing, clutching at the mic stand, whereas her brother is off the right-hand side. Steven’s sat at the piano as always, smiling at her, his hands poised over the keys.

Absentmindedly, her thumb traces over the spot where he is frozen in time.

Her heart aches for the young siblings in this photo.

It isn’t until she feels a strong, comforting hand on her shoulder that she realises a tear has escaped, rolling down her cheek freely. Her hand immediately goes up to catch it in its tracks.

“Yeah,” she says softly, “that is definitely me in the photo. I’m guessing Jim took it, must have been about seven years ago.” Possibly one of the last times she was ever on stage with her brother, she thinks. “He was like a second father to us.”

“Do you miss coming here?” Liam asks, his thumb absentmindedly rubs against her velvet jacket as if to soothe her. Strangely, it’s working.

“Yeah,” she admits, looking him in the eyes, “a lot. But, after Steven died, I just couldn’t stand to be here anymore.”

Images of his unconscious body in his bed flashes in her mind. The smell of alcohol and vomit still clings to her senses, even now. She still wakes up in a panic, her brain making her repeat the memory over and over again. It forces her to recall that feeling of raw fear when she discovered his pale form, the white powder still on his nightstand, his unseeing eyes staring up at the ceiling, her panicked cries, knowing it was useless. Knowing it was too late. Knowing he was gone from this world, from his corporeal form, and from her.

Her grip on the photo tightens.

“I’m sorry,” Liam begins, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”  

It doesn’t matter that this man is a stranger, she can just tell he means what he says.

She’s blown away with how vulnerable and open she has been with him – Fallon realises that in the space of ten minutes she has opened up to him more than she has with pretty much everyone in her life.

“You didn’t,” She promises, “I mean, I’m the one who chose to come here knowing what this place means to me. I guess it’s kind of cathartic.”

Liam smiles sympathetically, “that’s a good way of looking at it.”

“Can I keep this?” She asks, holding up the photo to the bartender who nods back, curtly.

“Just don’t let Jim know I gave it to you.”

“Of course. Thank you,” Fallon says as she slips the photo into her jacket pocket, and with it gone, she manages to push the emotions away too.

After all, she is here to learn more about this mysterious, heartbroken singer with kind eyes and an expressive singing voice.

It hits her that although it is a unique voice, there is still something familiar about it.

“You know what?” Fallon turns to him, her mask now safely back on. His hand slips off of her shoulder, and it feels cold without it there.

“What?” He asks.

“Your voice, it reminds me of,” she thinks for a moment, and then it comes to her, like a light flicking on in her mind, “okay, do you know that song ‘Butterfly Daydreams’?”

Liam blushes slightly.

“Yeah, there’s probably a reason for that,” He says, “that’s my dad’s song.”

She gasps in surprise, her eyes widening, “no way, you’re John Lowden’s son?”

Now that he’s mentioned it, Fallon begins to see the resemblance in his features, “my dad owns like every single one of his records, he used to play them for us every Sunday when I was growing up. John’s a legend in my family.”

Liam nods, before taking a sharp breath, “yeah he was a legend. Which is probably one of the reasons that I am not.”

Fallon tilts her head in confusion, “what do you mean?”

“I have lived every single second of my life in his shadow, even now that he’s gone I know I’ll never be better than the memory of him and the legacy he left behind. That’s why I figured that if I ever want to be taken seriously in the industry, then I need for people to not know that I’m Jack Lowden.”

She nods in understanding, and Fallon can’t help but feel like this stranger she has only just met is somewhat of a kindred spirit.

“No offense, but why did you go with ‘Liam Ridley’?” She points towards the posters scattered around the club which had been put up to promote his set, “it just kind of screams ‘romantic novelist’ to me, not singer songwriter.”

Liam chuckles, and damn, Fallon has to catch her breath at the sound. She decides that she definitely needs to hear him laugh like that again.

“My whole name is actually Jack Liam Ridley Lowden, but if you have any ideas for better stage names, I am open to suggestions.”

Fallon has to look away for a second as she suddenly feels hot under his gaze. She hums before looking back with a look as serious as she can muster.

“How about ‘Lesser-Known Lowden?'” She says, deadpan.

Liam laughs again, and Fallon’s stomach does a little flip, mentally cheering.

Fallon can’t keep her poker face for long, letting a smile crack.

The singer shakes his head and takes a sip of his drink, “funny,” he responds with sarcasm, making Fallon chuckle.

“In all seriousness,” Fallon begins, feeling the need to share her thoughts on the matter. Which, she realises is a little crazy considering she has only just met this guy, but nevertheless, the words spill out of her mouth anyway, “I don’t think that pretending you’re a whole other person will help. Trust me.”

“I take it as you have personal experience in the matter?” Liam asks.

“Maybe.”

Fallon becomes hesitant, realising that she is about to share a deep and personal secret that she has never shared. Still, she figures that maybe her ability to speak to this man so freely is because he’s simply a stranger, someone who isn’t going to hold anything against her for the rest of her life. This is someone she may never see again after tonight, so what would be the harm?

“I don’t know... It’s just that earlier, when I heard you sing, I could tell that you believed every single word of it. I have never felt that, with every album or song I put out I always hope that I will connect with the words and have that feeling where what I sing about actually feels like a reflection of myself but it just doesn’t. So instead I chase the next big thing, trying to find something that will make me feel something, but as of yet I just feel powerless.”

“Powerless?” Liam sounds surprised at Fallon’s confession, “aren’t you setting up a whole record company with your producer-stroke-fiancé?”

Fallon nods slowly, wishing that something as huge as buying and owning her own record label would excite her, or make her feel anything other than hollow.

“Yeah, it’s in the works. Business is kind of in my blood, so…” Liam furrows his brows, and Fallon waves her hand to dismiss the confusion, “you’re not the only one with a powerful Father. Mine inherited one of the most profitable companies in the world from his dad. I was supposed to join the family business, but like Steven, I rebelled. Adam, my eldest brother was always the golden child so he stands to inherit it all. So, this record label idea is essentially my way of symbolically flipping my whole family off.”

“Wow,” he responds.  

Fallon struggles to comprehend his expression, is he shocked? In awe? Judgmental? She suddenly hates that she isn’t sure what he thinks of her.

“So you’re basically going to start your own dynasty?” Liam asks.

“That’s the plan,” she says before taking a sip of her drink.

“Well, if you want to sign an up-and-coming musician called The Lesser-Known Lowden, I think he’s looking for a label.”

Laughter bubbles up in Fallon’s chest, glancing at his cheeky smile.  

Fallon realises that she hasn’t felt this light in a long time, and honestly it scares her how naturally she feels she can be herself around this stranger.

“I think the name might need a bit of work, but I’m sure we can listen to a few demos.”

She sees a glint of humor in Liam’s eyes as he smiles, “yeah, it was some random girl who I met in a bar once who suggested it. She was very insightful about my career path, not so good at naming things.”

“Well, I hope you at least got her number.”

Liam’s smile falls flat as his eyes travel to her left hand, raising his eyebrow at the large diamond ring on her finger.

“I don’t think her fiancé would appreciate that,” he comments, disappointment laced in the tone of his voice.

Fallon brings her hands together, feeling at the ring, and is instantly hit by a wave of nauseating guilt at Liam’s words.

What am I doing? Flirting with this guy when Michael is probably home right now waiting for you to call him to say goodnight?

She knows that logically, this would have been an ideal moment to leave, but she can’t resist this compulsion she feels towards the handsome man sat next to her. Once she figures that there is absolutely no harm in them being friends, she relaxes.

“True,” she admits, “but they could work together, you know as colleagues? Have a session in the studio or something,” she shrugs, attempting to give off an illusion of nonchalance.

Liam does a comprehending nod of his head, “sure,” he says, “but, he doesn’t initially write music in a studio.”

“Oh?” Fallon questions, taking another sip of her drink, “is he more of a piano and notepad kind of guy?”

“Not quite. Want me to show you?”

Her heart skips a beat.

“Sure.”

“Then we need to escape them,” he gestures with his head towards both of Fallon’s bodyguards standing in the corner of the room. Fallon looks around at them, seeing that they aren’t paying too much attention to her and figures she can get out without them noticing if she is quick about it.

She begins to stand, but Liam puts his hand on her arm, halting her.

“You can’t just walk out of here.” 

Fallon sits back down, mentally admitting that he is right. She bites her lip as she thinks about a better escape plan, “I’ll just tell them to go home.”

Liam rolls his eyes, playfully, “like that’s going to work.”

“They work for me,” she emphasises.

“They will follow you, regardless, because if something ever happens to you, your family would sue the hell out of them for failing in their contractual duties to keep you safe,” Liam adds, his voice low and raspy as he moves closer.

Fallon looks at him, properly, looks at him.

“Are you telling me I’m not going to be safe with you?” She asks.

Liam mirrors her expression for a second until the side of his mouth curls up, “of course you’re going to be safe with me,” he says with confidence, “I have two helmets.”

She recoils, “excuse me?”

“You want to feel something, Fallon Carrington?” He asks, a glint in his eyes as he continues, “if you trust me, you’ll feel something tonight, I can promise you that.”

She has got to be crazy to even consider this. 

But, he’s offering her something she has been craving ever since she last played in this bar with her brother by her side.

The promise of excitement, maybe even a little danger is far too alluring, so she gives in to temptation, “alright, so what’s your plan?”

She catches his look of excitement before he holds out his palm, “give me your jacket.”

Fallon looks offended, “this is a two thousand dollar jacket.”

“If you want to get out of here without dismissing your guards and drawing attention to yourself, then the jacket is the price you will have to pay.”

She rolls her eyes, realising he has won the argument. She shakes off the designer jacket and places it in his offered hand and sits back, waiting to see his plan unfold.

He turns and scans the crowd, his eyes narrowing until he clearly finds what he was looking for. He leans into Fallon’s ear and whispers, “stay here, just finish your drink, I’ll be back in a second.”

She tries to deny the shiver that travels all the way down her spine.

Then he leaves, making his way through the crowd. 

It takes every ounce of restraint she has to resist twisting her body to look for him, but she does as he says, and turns her attention back to the drink in her hand, completely draining it of its contents.

The alcohol buzzing in her system keeps her from overthinking all of this, and she has to admit that without it, she wouldn’t be sneaking into the city with a stranger… Well, he isn’t a complete stranger, he’s John Lowden’s son. 

Still, it’s a little crazy, but thankfully, crazy is kind of her thing.

She starts to wonder if maybe this Liam is just her brand of crazy too – but before she can fully explore that though, he’s back with a tall brunette on his arm, wearing her jacket.

It clicks instantly what his plan is. In this dimly lit part of the bar, this woman could easily pass as her. She sees him say something to the woman who is still busying herself admiring Fallon’s designer jacket now on her shoulders before he takes Fallon’s hand and tells her to follow him.

She quickly grabs her purse and goes willingly.

He leads her back through the stage door, the music now muffled, the sound of their breaths in her ears and she knows exactly where he’s heading. They practically run down the hallway, her heels clicking against the linoleum and they crash into Jim’s office without notice, taking the man behind the desk by surprise.

“Hi, Jim, sorry man, gotta run,” Liam says as he pulls her through the room, heading for the door which leads to a street at the back of the bar.

The look on the older, heavier, man’s face is one of instant recognition, and shock. “Fallon Carrington?!”

“Hey, Jim, nice to see you again.” she says hurriedly in response, then Liam is pulling them through the outer door, “bye!”

The cold night air hits them instantly as the door swings closed behind them. Simultaneously, they burst out laughing.

Fallon feels high, not from the alcohol, but from the rush of their escape and anticipation of what’s to come next.

Liam lets go of her hand as they take a moment.

“That was crazy,” she manages to wheeze out.

“Well it’s not over yet,” Liam says, once he finally stops laughing, “come on before Jim manages to get out of his chair and chases us.”

He puts his hand on the small of her back to guide her down the dimly lit passage until they turn the corner, stopping at a motorbike propped up in the middle of the narrow street.

“Ta-da,” Liam sings, showing off the vehicle to her.

“You have to be kidding me.”

“Oh come on, you’ve come this far.”

She looks him in the eyes, and he somehow calms her nerves from doing something as reckless as straddling her legs either side of a death machine. He’s looking back at her with a challenging expression when he continues, “Come on, Fallon. Take a leap of faith.”

She smirks back at him, because Fallon Carrington never turns down a challenge, no matter how insane this might be.

It’s then that she notices the black leather jacket in his other hand which she can only assume had been what he’d traded hers for with the brunette they’d left standing at the bar to fool her guards.

“Here, put this on,” he says, holding it out for her to put her arms into.

Entirely against her better judgement, she does it; she lets him slip the jacket up her arms, settling on her shoulders. He comes around to her front to zip it up, something which she easily could have done herself, but she’s sort of frozen, enjoying his proximity. Then it only gets worse when he reaches back towards the bike and produces a second helmet. She’s just about to complain about how it will mess up her hair, but then he pushes a strand of it out of the way of her face, swooping close and she’s overcome with the strongest urge to lean forward and kiss him.

Thankfully, he places the helmet over her head, and it’s a physical barrier stopping her from doing just that, and making a huge mistake.

Then Liam stands back and takes a look at her, admiring his work.

“Alright,” he says, putting his own helmet on before straddling the bike, turning on the engine. He motions with his head, “hop on.”

She hesitates.

Sense almost gets to her, but then their heads whip around when they hear footsteps quickly approaching from the passageway, likely her bodyguards chasing after her, their rouse discovered, and she doesn’t think twice. She skips over to the bike and swings her leg over so that she’s sat snug behind Liam.

She tries to not think about how good it feels.

“Hold on tight,” he says.

She does.