Standing By

Dejected

(Tim)

Feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders, I turned and left my friends one last time. I was relatively sure I'd never be able to see them again with the way Jenika was acting. The way she spoke of them. The way they spoke of her. Course, with the verbal abuse she was throwing at them, I didn't blame their attitudes one bit. I knew was a mess, my face blotchy and looking like I'd been crying for hours on end. I was certainly attracting attention as I crossed the lobby, as I waited by the elevator. I just stared straight ahead, not seeing anything.

"T-Tim?" someone stuttered next to me as we got on the elevator. Damn it, I wanted to be alone. "Tim Foust, of Home Free, right?"

Fuck it. "Leave me alone right now, OK?"

"OK," she whispered, the doors closing behind us.

I glanced over quickly then did a double-take when I realized who had spoken to me. Holy shit. Carrie. Of all people to run into right now, Carrie Underwood. Who I've crushed on for years, ever since I'd seen her on American Idol. Shit. Carrie. I was somewhere in between crying over my lost music career and fangirling all over her. It was a very weird feeling and was doing a number on my stomach.

We pulled up to the second floor and the doors opened, but no one got on and neither of us stepped off. She glanced at me questioningly and I just shrugged. Finally, after what seemed like minutes, the doors closed and we ascended another floor.

We stopped on the third floor and again, and the doors opened but no one was there, either. Carrie stuck her head out only to end up shrugging herself.

Fourth floor. The doors opened with an irritatingly happy ping, but still there was no awaiting passengers.

"Hmm," she murmured, glancing at me again.

I peered at the keypad. Only my seven and a twelve were lit; two, three, and four were not. "I don't know," I said softly, hesitantly, not trusting my voice wouldn't betray my turmoil.

Carrie regarded me as we rose to the fifth floor, only to repeat the process for our ghostly passenger. "Are you OK?"

Well, no. Not really. Not at all. My world was falling apart and I was on an elevator with Carrie Freaking Underwood. Really not trusting that I wouldn't sound like a sick cow, I just shrugged.

"You seem really upset," she said gently, then put her pretty and dainty hands up. "I'm sorry. I'm intruding."

" 's OK," I mumbled, still not having the courage to look my idol—the Idol—in the eye. Me, shy? Yes, the world was definitely topsy-turvy. "My wife and I just had a fight."

"I'm sorry about that," Carrie told me, sounding genuinely sympathetic as we stopped on the sixth floor. "That really sucks."

"Yeah, it does." I sniffled, hating that I looked and sounded like such a mess in front of her. "Um, I'm sorry I'm such a disaster zone right now."

"Hey, it's OK," she said, smiling at me. "No judgment. Happens to all of us. And nobody looks pretty when they're crying. This isn't Hollywood where somebody is ready with a powder brush if you blink crooked."

I laughed in spite of myself. "So true."

Carrie smiled at me. "I like your laugh."

I blushed at that. "Thanks."

"There ya go. There's that smile. Don't ever let that wife of yours hide it. No fight is worth the cost of your happiness," she said seriously.

Finally, for the first time, I lifted my eyes directly to hers to return her gaze. God, her eyes were fucking beautiful.

Sensing the question in my eyes, she answered it without being asked. "Really. So just smile, go on about the show, find your group, and put on a hell of a show tonight. Then afterwards, go talk to your wife. One fight is not the end of the world. Things will get better."

"It's a huge fight," I whispered, my eyes starting to pool with the sting of the words 'find your group and put on a hell of a show tonight'. I didn't have a group. Not anymore. And without a group, I had no show. I was just me. No Adam, no Rob. No Austin. No Chance. I didn't have a chance. Oh God. Never, never any more shows. No more singing for a sold-out audience. No fans, no lights, no stage. Jenika had pulled the music out of me. Out. Out. Just Tim. Not Tim Foust of Home Free. Not Tim the singer. Just Tim Tim.

My legs collapsed under me and I fell straight to the floor in a heap, a heap of desperate, aching, quivering agony. Oh my God. I seriously didn't know how I could go back to just living a 'regular' life, a nine-to-five job. I didn't want that. I couldn't take that. I couldn't. It was not the life for me. Not the life I wanted to live.

"Tim. Tim," Carrie was saying, having knelt down next to me, her hand on my back. "Tim. Listen to me. Are you OK, I mean, physically? You just totally collapsed on me. Tim. Look at me. Please."

I looked up at her, a picture of what I once had. A musical career. A musical success. Now, nothing. "I can't," I gasped out, trying not to wail too loudly. "I can't do this."

"Do what, honey? You can't do what?" Carrie asked me.

I sat there for a minute, just trying to get ahold of myself. "This life. I can't. I can't. Too much—it's too much." Entirely too much to demand off me.

"Oh God." Carrie grabbed my arm and slowly pulled me to my feet. "Come on, honey, this is the twelfth floor. Let's get off here. I'll help you. Where is your group?"

"I h... I have...," I mumbled, unable to vocalize the words 'I have no group'. This was too much she was asking of me. Too much. I couldn't. I wouldn't let her do this to me. I couldn't just walk away from all I've done, as far as I've come. Maybe, just maybe, I needed to end it. If she couldn't understand how she was hurting me, maybe it just wasn't going to work out between us. "End it. I have to end it all." I stood up, resolve now starting to settle over me.

"Tim!" Carrie shrieked. "No! Don't talk like that!"

I turned to her. "I have to. I have to end it, now. I can't live like this."

"No fight is worth it," she said firmly, grabbing my arm and quickly pulling me into her room. "You can't."

"I would have thought you, of all people, would understand," I said, reaching into my pocket for my phone.

"No!" Carrie yelled again, picking up her room phone. "Front desk! I need you to page Adam Rupp! Adam Rupp to room 1220! This is an emergency!"

I stared at her oddly. Didn't know that considering a divorce was such an emergency. Well, if she and Adam wanted to be witness to it, so be it. Adam would want and need to know anyway.