The Mixtape Read online

  Come back to me.

  I didn’t say another word, because I knew getting through to her while she was in character wasn’t going to work. The men had smirks on their faces as I turned to walk away from the three of them. I didn’t bother saying goodbye. Fuck them and their smart-ass smirks. All I knew was, when Cam came home that night, she was coming home to me.

  Walking through the crowd of sardines, I kept my head lowered, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone in hopes of avoiding any kind of social interaction. My brain had reached its limit of engaging, and I simply needed my driver to meet me outside to take me home.

  I shot my way to coat check and muttered a thank-you as the guy handed me my jacket. Then I headed to the front of the building, where paparazzi had been waiting all night on the left, behind barriers, for a chance to get a shot of any and every celebrity leaving the club.

  “Oliver! Oliver! Over here! You came with Cam! Is there trouble in paradise?”

  “Why isn’t Cam leaving with you?”

  “Is it true you two have been secretly dating for years?”

  “Why lie about your relationship? Were you ashamed of her?”

  And that was exactly why I didn’t want those assholes in my business.

  Instead of engaging with them, I turned to my right, where another barricade was set up. Behind the barricade were the people I truly cared about. The fans.

  Even though I was exhausted and had mentally checked out, I headed over to them and smiled. I’d spend as much time as I could taking pictures with the fans, because without them, Alex and I wouldn’t even have an album-release party to be celebrating.

  “Hey there, how’s it going?” I asked, smirking toward a young girl. She couldn’t have been over eighteen, and she held a sign up that said OLIVE4LIFE.

  “Oh my gosh,” she muttered, her colorful braces spreading into a wide-toothed grin. Her eyes flooded with tears as her body trembled. I placed my hand against her shaky hand.

  If it weren’t for her friends holding her up, I was sure she was going to collapse to the ground.

  “Y-you’re my h-h-h-ero,” she spat out, making me smile.

  “You’re mine too. What’s your name?”

  “Adya.” The tears began flowing down her cheeks, and I wiped them away for her. “You d-don’t understand,” she stuttered, shaking her head. “Your music helped me through my depression. I w-was bullied a lot and wanted to e-end my life, but your music was there for me. You saved me.”

  Fucking A.

  Don’t cry, Oliver. Don’t you dare fucking cry.

  I squeezed her hand and leaned in close. “If only you knew how much you’ve saved me, too, Adya.”

  She was why I did it. Her along with all the others who showed up and showed out for Alex & Oliver. Fuck the paparazzi. I showed up for the fans, because they always showed up for me.

  “Taking photos without me?” Alex chimed in, patting me on the back. He had his jacket in his hand, as if he was leaving too.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “I got tired.” Alex glanced down at his watch.

  “That’s a lie.” Alex was always one of the last ones to leave a party.

  He smirked. “Kelly texted me saying she was hungry. I figured I’d bring her some chicken noodle soup, since she wasn’t feeling good.”

  Now, that made sense. Kelly was my assistant, and Alex was like a lovesick puppy about her. She was currently staying in my coach house while her loft was being renovated. Therefore, it seemed that Alex was around my place a lot more than normal—and he definitely wasn’t visiting me. “Figured I could catch a ride with you,” he said, nudging me. “After a few more pics with these guys.”

  I always had a feeling that the two of them had a connection, and it wasn’t shocking that they’d begun talking. Honestly, they were a perfect match. For a while, Kelly suffered from an eating disorder, trying to keep up with Hollywood’s beauty standards. Alex was the main one who helped her through her hardships. He would sit with her and eat meals every single day without fail, making sure she knew she wasn’t alone in her struggles. What started as friendship slowly began to transform into something with more meaning.

  We took a few more photographs with the fans while ignoring the vultures on the other side asking us insane questions, then climbed into the back of the black Audi that was waiting for us.

  “Hey, Ralph, you all right with me smoking in here?” Alex asked as he leaned forward toward the driver.

  “Whatever you want to do is fine by me, Mr. Smith,” Ralph replied, being the laid-back driver he’d always been. Alex always found the need to ask him about the smoking thing, even though Ralph always said it was fine.

  Alex sat back as he lit up a joint. He wasn’t a big smoker or anything, but he always had a joint after some kind of event. Maybe that was his way of unwinding from social gatherings. I would’ve taken up the habit if I thought it would’ve helped with my social anxiety. Instead, pot made me more paranoid of what people were thinking of me.

  Hard pass for me.

  “You hear this song?” Alex asked, pulling out his phone and hitting play. “‘Godspeed,’ by James Blake. Shit. His voice is so fucking dope, man. Smooth as whiskey. Reminds me of our old stuff, before the record deal.” He plopped back in his seat and closed his eyes. “Whenever I hear music like this, I feel like a sellout. This is the music we wanted to make, you know? Music that fucked with your soul in a good way. That made you feel alive.”

  The song was powerful in such a chill way, which wasn’t shocking for James Blake. He made me feel to the depths of my being. Alex wasn’t wrong—our music used to feel like that too. Like it mattered. When we signed with our record label, they changed our direction a lot, which brought us fame and millions of fans along with millions of dollars. Sometimes we wondered at what expense, though. How much money and fame was enough to sell one’s soul?

  Many days I wished I could go back to the days of small venues and tiny crowds.

  Felt more authentic back then.

  I reached for my phone and opened my current playlist routine to share my current favorite track from James Blake. There wasn’t a day that Alex and I didn’t send each other music. We used music to express how we were feeling day in and day out. Sometimes we were too exhausted for true conversations, so songs were our way to communicate.

  Had a great day? “It Was a Good Day,” by Ice Cube. Felt down? “This City,” by Sam Fischer. The world getting on your last nerve? “Fuck You,” by CeeLo Green. No matter what the feeling was, there was a song that could express it.

  “You heard this one?” I asked, turning on “Retrograde,” by James Blake. First time I heard it, I knew it was important.

  Alex opened his eyes and leaned forward. His brows knitted as his head began to slowly nod to the beat of the song. “Shit,” he said, smirking as the lyrics laid their seed in his head. His eyes glassed over as the joint sat between his lips, the end of it lit with reddish-orange heat. “We need to get back to this kind of stuff.” He rubbed a thumb against his watery eyes, and I smirked.

  My sensitive brother always got more in his feelings when he was getting high.

  “For real, Oliver. We need to get back to—”

  His words were cut short as the car came to a sudden halt, jerking Alex and me forward in the back seat. “What the hell was that?” I asked.

  “Sorry, you guys. Some assholes came rushing down the road like idiots,” Ralph said before pushing his foot against the gas to start again.

  Just as we were sitting back in our seat and beginning to relax again, the world began to shatter around us, along with the windows that busted from the impact of a car slamming against the left side of the car. There wasn’t any time to react or comprehend exactly what was going on. All I knew was everything ached. My phone flew from my hand. My chest burned as my vision blurred.

  The sound of horns blasting surrounded us. The sound of people shouting echoed in m
y eardrums.

  I couldn’t move no matter how hard I tried. I felt . . . upside down? Was I upside down? Was the car upside down? Was Alex . . . ?

  Fuck.

  Alex?

  I looked to my left, my neck aching from the slight movement. There he was, his eyes closed, his face covered in blood, his body not moving in the slightest.

  “Alex,” I choked out, the word burning my throat as tears flooded my eyes. “Alex,” I repeated, over and over again until my head began to ache in an unimaginable fashion.

  I had to close my eyes.

  I didn’t want to close my eyes.

  I wanted to check on Alex.

  I wanted to make sure he was okay.

  I wanted to . . .

  Fuck.

  I couldn’t breathe. Why did my throat burn? Was Alex all right?

  My eyes began to fade as “Retrograde” echoed in my eardrums.

  A Star Is Gone

  By Jessica Peppers

  It looks like the music world has to say goodbye to another musician. Lead guitarist Alex Smith of Alex & Oliver is dead at 27. After a deadly car crash, he was raced to Memorial Hospital, where he was announced dead on arrival.

  Insiders are saying that Alex was leaving the party due to his brother. Is it too early to put this fault on the shoulders of Oliver? Oliver was left with a few injuries but nothing too serious. Still, with such a big loss, who knows what that will do to the artist.

  Stay tuned for more updates as they roll in, and remember, you read it first here on W News.

  BREAKING NEWS

  The Curse of the 27 Club

  Alex Smith, Dead at 27

  By Eric Hunter

  Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain, Amy Winehouse.

  What do all these musicians have in common—other than being legendary masterpieces? They all left the world at the early age of 27. Sadly, they have another joining the club at the same tender age. Alex Smith was announced dead last night after a tragic car accident took place. Rumor has it that there were drugs in Alex’s system. We reached out to Oliver’s team for a statement but have heard nothing back from them as of yet.

  Questions are arising in the wake of such a tragedy. What does this mean for Alex & Oliver? Will Oliver continue on without his brother by his side? How will Oliver ever be able to come to grips with such a personal loss?

  Only time will tell.

  Keep a close eye on our site for all incoming updates on this tragic event.

  Tragedy Strikes Alex & Oliver

  By Aaron Bank

  Alex Smith, of Alex & Oliver, was pronounced dead late this evening after a car crash. One of the music industry’s brightest stars is gone too soon.

  With the loss of Alex, the world didn’t simply lose a talented musician. It lost a great advocate for human rights. From his voice in the Black community, to being on the front line of marches for equality, Alex Smith did a lot of good for this world. He is definitely gone too soon.

  Twitter Trending Hashtag

  #RIPAlexSmith

  ShannonE: That awkward moment when the wrong Smith brother is killed. #RIPAlexSmith

  HeavyLifter: Oliver is nothing but a fucking loser. If he didn’t have Alex leave early, he’d still be alive. His death is on Oliver’s hands. RIP to the best guitarist this world has ever seen. #RIPAlexSmith #FuckYouOliverSmith

  BlackJazz4235: Who the fuck is Alex & Oliver? Sounds like an emo band who cries in their mother’s basement #RIPAlexSmith #BullshitMusic

  UptownGirlz: How is it only January 6th and one of my idols is already dead? Fuck you, new year. I want a restart. #RIPAlexSmith

  UntitledSoul: And this is why you say no to drugs, kids. Fucking addicts. #RIPAlexSmith

  The Fate of Oliver Smith Is at Risk

  By Eric Hunter

  It has been six months since the passing of Alex Smith, one half of the powerful duo Alex & Oliver, and time has not been kind to Oliver Smith. We saw how his stay at a mental health clinic was tainted by the paparazzi and jaded employees who exposed Oliver’s treatments, which led to him leaving the facility before getting the help he probably needed. Since then, he has been a recluse, hardly ever leaving his home. An insider says he’s on the verge of a mental breakdown.

  Many fans were hoping to see Oliver come around and bounce back from the tragic loss, yet as time passes, we might as well pack up our hopes, kids.

  It seems that Oliver is hanging up his guitar strap for good. Besides, let’s be honest. Who wants an Oliver without an Alex?

  1

  OLIVER

  Present Day

  I woke up lying beside a woman I loved yet didn’t like very much anymore. It wasn’t always like that. There was a time in my life when Cam Jones wowed me. We inspired one another. We had deep, meaningful conversations. I adored her. I even thought that someday she’d be my wife. Over time, though, she was becoming more and more of a stranger to me.

  Days after Alex passed away, rumors began to circulate that Cam had been cheating on me, yet she swore they weren’t true. That was the exact reason I never wanted our relationship to be publicized, because when the vultures got their claws in your life, they weren’t going to let go until they ripped you apart.

  After she told me the rumors weren’t true, I didn’t dig deeper. It was the paparazzi’s job to spread lies. Besides, my mind wasn’t in a good place. My soul couldn’t even face the idea of having a fallout with Cam, because I needed her. Cam was there most evenings to lie beside me, and maybe I was a little bitch for needing that, but I hated the idea of being alone.

  My thoughts were too heavy for loneliness.

  Cam yawned beside me and stretched her arms out, smacking me in the face. I groaned from the movement and turned my back toward her chilled fingertips. It amazed me how someone could be so cold, even though they were wrapped in a million blankets.

  As I shifted to my left, Cam yanked the comforter to the right, pulling it from me and wrapping herself into it. I grumbled to myself a bit and moved to sit up on the edge of my California king–size bed as my hands massaged my temples. Leaning forward to stand, I paused as the world began spinning faster and faster behind my eyes.

  Coffee.

  I needed coffee and about fifteen more years of sleep. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a good night’s sleep, outside of blacking out. I couldn’t sleep while I was sober; my thoughts were too loud.

  “Rise and shine, princess,” a voice chirped, making me tilt my head up a bit in the direction of my bedroom door. My left eye slightly opened as the figure in front of me slowly came into focus.

  Tyler stood there with a cup of coffee and a bottle of ibuprofen. Thank God for him and his ability to know what I needed before I even stated the fact. Tyler was a short, bald guy in his late thirties who was built like a superhero. He had a thick Bronx accent that he didn’t leave behind in New York when he moved to the West Coast.

  He always dressed in the best designer outfits and ruined his look with the worst set of sunglasses in the world. Honestly, they looked like something someone from the seventies would wear. I was almost certain I saw the same set of glasses on reruns of Welcome Back, Kotter that I used to watch with my dad. If Tyler was a dog, he’d be a mix of a Chihuahua and a pit bull. Built strong with a hell of a lot of bark, and a look that was all kinds of ridiculous. Somehow, it worked for him.

  I grumbled some more to him and kept kneading my fingers against my forehead.

  Cam moved within the sheets and yawned loudly as she sat up and rubbed her hands over her face. “Is that coffee for me?” she questioned, turning in Tyler’s direction.

  “Never,” he huffed, picking up her bra and tossing it her way.

  “It’s good to see you, too, Tyler.”

  “How about you piss off, Satan,” he replied, completely unentertained by my reoccurring mistake. It was no secret that the two of them hated one another. Even before the cheating rumors, Tyler deemed her unworthy of his
attention. He and Alex had had the same viewpoint on her: she was using me to further her name.

  I couldn’t bring myself to believe that. Somewhere inside of her was the kind soul I knew years before. At least those were the lies I’d told myself to get through each day.

  “I’ll get my own coffee. I have to get going, anyway. I need to find a charity to donate to in order to get some good press,” Cam stated.

  “You don’t give to charity for good press,” I muttered.

  She rolled her eyes. “That’s the only reason we do charity work. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

  Cam slithered her body around in my bed until she was placing her bare chest against my back. Her cold brown skin pressed up against the darkness of mine, and for a second we make-believed that our bodies connected, even though we both knew we were forcing the pieces together from two mismatched puzzles.

  “Did you talk to your management about letting me perform during your show tonight?” she asked me, reminding me that I had a show that night.

  “I am his management, and the answer is hell to the no,” Tyler remarked.

  Cam released an annoyed huff. “When are you going to fire him?”

  “Never,” I replied.

  “You hear that? Never. I’m just waiting for the day that he fires you,” Tyler said.

  She hissed in his direction, and he hissed right back at her.

  She moved her lips to my ear, and my body slightly revolted from her simple touch. I was almost certain her eyes were locked on Tyler to prove some kind of point to him. That she had control over me, not him. “Last night was fun,” she commented, her voice smoky and dry. Fun? Was it? I’d drunk too much to truly recall. Her hair swayed back and forth, brushing against the nape of my neck. “I have to get to some meetings. I’ll see you tonight.”

  I didn’t say anything to her. She didn’t expect any form of communication from me. Cam and I didn’t talk. Well, she talked, I didn’t, which was fine for her. All she ever wanted was to have someone sit and listen to everything she said. While she needed someone to listen, I needed someone to stay. At night she’d lie beside me, and for a few moments in my life, I’d pretend that the world wasn’t crashing around me and I’d feel less alone.