taking a hiatus after turning down a huge role that would have “cemented my title as the next James Dean”, at least according to Harry, she only questioned me a little before giving me a hug anyway. After all, her acting career started after she built herself as a music icon. She thought I could do the same. Better, even.
Turning down the role took no hesitation, though. I don’t want to act. I want to write music, maybe do a gig or two, and breathe. Being a Bishop is suffocating. Living in my father’s and older sister’s shadows is like a boot to the chest that never lets you up.
Mia only pushes when she thinks someone is making a big mistake, and she let me walk away into my own slice of peace for a few years. Still working, just behind the scenes. If I disappeared altogether I’m sure she’d have more to say—probably would have shown up at my place just outside New York City to give me a piece of her mind that I definitely did not want to hear. Then or now.
“Somehow, I don’t believe her,” I grumble, sliding toward the door. Looking over my shoulder at the mayhem behind the gates, I shake my head. “I wish she would stop with her theatrics. She’s always trying to make a point.”
The point being that I hide too much—that people are interested. Of course they are. Me surfacing means more money in the pocket of those vultures calling out to me right now. They want the scoop. The scandal that’ll buy them a new house, Lambo, and wife. As far as I’m concerned, they can go fuck themselves.
Gordy chuckles lightheartedly. “She wouldn’t be Mia without her theatrics.” He would know. He’s been my friend since we were in our early teens. We went to the same prep school and had the same classes, except we come from very different families. His may be rich, but they are the biggest assholes on the planet and treat him like trash for no reason other than they can. His father is some investment banker, his mother comes from old money involving a shoe line, and Gordon is their only child after spending years struggling to have any at all. You’d think they’d see him as royalty then, spoil him rotten, but some people just aren’t meant to be parents, and they’re at the top of that list.
He knows what my sister can be like, aka a pain in the ass when she’s determined, or how my mother is when she gets into her wine after a “long day” which is always on days that end in “y”, and what a dickhead my father is. All in all, Gordy knows my secrets. But unlike most people, I trust him with them.
Opening the back door, I slide out with my head down and instantly hear people shouting my name. I know Gordy is right behind me, ushering me toward the front doors like he can protect me from the paparazzi even though he’s five-eleven to my six-three and a solid fifty pounds lighter thanks to my incessant need to work out and weight train.
Almost as soon as my body surfaces, the loud inquiries start from behind me.
“Kyler! How does it feel to be home?”
“Kyler, why did you decide to come back?”
“Who’s the girl inside, Kyler?”
The girl inside?
I almost turn but hold myself back, not having much time to think about the question before the front door opens and my sister greets me with her arms stretched wide. “You made it, little brother! My god, you must really be eating your vegetables over there.”
I roll my eyes and give her a one-armed hug. It isn’t like she doesn’t stalk my Instagram whenever she can. I’ve seen her comments, which are usually annoying albeit hilarious roasts on some of my pictures. I make sure to post so I don’t become a “Where Are They Now” special down the road like she and my agent fear. There isn’t anything exciting on my feed. Some selfies, a few candid shots of my workout routine at the gym, and a couple of some dates I’ve been on that never went anywhere but the bedroom. I have no qualms with admitting my one-and-done way of “dating” since half the people I go out with only want one thing from me anyway. To say they bagged Kyler Bishop. So, whatever. It’s equally beneficial. We both get off, and they go