Too much Trouble for the Tune Titan?
After what some might call his best show yet, Liam Connolly was spotted fighting a fan in what many think is a sign of the majorly popular musician’s inevitable breaking point. While some, like me, might find Liam’s macho display something akin to mouthwatering, we can’t help but wonder if the fame has finally gotten to our guitar-wielding hero. Up until now, Liam has been nothing but smiles and good vibes, but we all know everyone has to crack at some point. I mean, look at that punch in the videos below! The man clearly had some aggression to let out.
With the smooth-voiced artist currently MIA, the world of music is full of one important question: Where is Liam now? We’ve got our theories, and whether he’s in rehab or a luxury prison upstate, we are eagerly awaiting more news on our favorite male singer. Maybe this is the end of Liam’s chart-topping reign.
Only time will tell.
Stay up to date on all things Hollywood by hitting that subscribe button, and we’ll make sure you get all the info on Liam Connolly. Until next time! XO
Look, I’m as pro-peace as the next guy, but some people deserve to be punched. It’s a known fact. And yet, no matter how many people agree with me, my publicist, Ethan, seems to think otherwise.
“Could you show at least some remorse?” he asks for the fiftieth time this afternoon. (It’s only the third time, but I stand by my hyperbole.) “You’re acting like this isn’t a big deal.”
I twist my kitchen stool back and forth a few times, trying to make it squeak as loudly as I can because it will drive Ethan crazy. “I miss when Jordan was my publicist,” I say wistfully. “He would have fixed this by now.”
“You are probably the reason Jordan quit,” Ethan shoots right back.
I really hope not, though Jordan did leave his PR firm without any heads up, which is strange. He had a lot of high profile clients, myself included, and he left us high and dry a couple of years ago. He’s the only publicist I know who managed to keep every single one of his clients in the clear. Ethan’s fine, but he’s not the kind of genius who could turn an arrestable offense inside a Costco into an endorsement goldmine.
I knew it was a bad idea to climb the racking inside the warehouse, but a kid had just thrown his toy up there and was seconds away from a world-class meltdown, with no employees in sight. I was just trying to help.
Just like this time.
I squeak the stool a few more times until Ethan looks like the vein in his forehead is going to burst. It’s a good thing we’re having this chat over video conference, or he would have lost it by now. He has the benefit of muting me if he needs to. “I know I shouldn’t have punched the guy,” I say, trying for some sobriety. It’s not easy. “But he wouldn’t stop harassing the girl. What was I supposed to do?”
“Alert security and let them deal with it?” Ethan groans when he sees my answering glare. He knows as well as I do that my security team had been busy with some overeager fans trying to sneak onto the stage to get to me. “I know, I know. ‘There was no one there.’ But that doesn’t change the fact that you decked a paying ticket holder at your own show, Liam.”
“It’s not my fault there’s never anyone around when the bad stuff goes down!” I complain.
It’s my literal curse and has been my entire life. That whole “luck of the Irish” thing doesn’t apply to me in the slightest despite my mother being from Dublin.
I encounter more nasty events than most just by nature of being a famous musician, but even then, most people usually aren’t alone when the bad things happen. Then there’s me. Like the time our tree in the backyard got struck by lightning and caught on fire, and my six-year-old self was temporarily home alone while my mom brought dinner over to the neighbor? Did I know how to call 9-1-1? Of course not, so half the yard burned before someone noticed me covered in ash and trying to put it out with the garden hose. I still have a burn scar on my wrist because my smart little self thought getting closer to the fire would put it out faster. Or that day after school in sixth grade when I came across the biggest bully in our grade trying to shake down another kid for his lunch money even though he’d spent it at lunch that day? I couldn’t just stand by and watch, and I got suspended for fighting even though I never threw a punch.
I did throw a punch at my concert three days ago, though. And I won’t apologize for it. The guy had it coming.
Ethan must see my defiance because he groans again. “You really won’t post an apology video? Your image is looking really bad right now, Liam, and I don’t say that lightly. Especially with you on house arrest for the next six weeks, we have to find a way to fix this.”
I look down at the ankle monitor gracing my right leg. While I’m almost certain the charges are going to be dropped once we go to trial in a month and a half, thanks to a witness willing to testify that I was not the first one to throw a punch despite what all the videos show, I’m not fond of this little precaution. The LA police thought it best if I keep out of the public eye until things calm down, given my high profile.
Honestly, if they had just asked me to lie low, I would have done it. I think. But this little black box is practically taunting me, begging me to see how far from my front door I can get before it goes off and I’m noncompliant. It’s a bad idea to give me strict boundaries; all I want to do is cross them.
My left foot is the one that makes me even more frustrated though, encased in its thick and unwieldy boot. Turns out when you get into a fight on a stage, chances are high that you’re going to misjudge where the edge is and accidentally take a little tumble. And you’re likely to end up with a hairline fracture.
At least it’s not completely broken? And I don’t know where I would be if I’d broken my wrist or something. These hands are valuable.
“Honestly, I should be pressing my own charges, after what happened to me,” I say, immediately regretting my joke when Ethan lets out a bone-weary sigh. I like messing with him, but not to the point where he quits like Jordan did.
“Liam, your career is in danger. Can you be serious for ten minutes? I’ll even take five.”
I sit up straight, recognizing his request for what it is—a straight up plea. “Yes. Sorry. I know we need to do something, but I can’t apologize. I just can’t.”
I’ve spent my life apologizing, so it’s not like I don’t know how. Neither am I too proud. But in this instance, I would do what I did a thousand times over with no regrets. I wish other people had done it with me.
Ethan runs a hand down his face, probably contemplating how difficult it would be to find another job that pays as well as his does now. “Fine. Will you just…stay off of social media until I figure out what to do about all this?”
“Duh.” I don’t like socials anyway. The only reason I even got an account is because my record label required it, and I pay someone else to post for me and answer DMs. No one can convince me there’s anything good on social media when it’s full of trolls and people invading my privacy, so I steer clear. I should probably remind my gal who has my account to take a break for a couple of weeks, in case she missed that memo when I got arrested.
“And don’t leave your house for any reason,” Ethan adds.
I don’t even bother gracing that one with a response. “Let me know when you’ve got something,” I tell him, and then I shut my laptop and let the kitchen fill with silence.
That’s a lie. I don’t do silence. I’ve got a fountain in the backyard, its soothing sounds coming in through the open door behind me, and Nelson the budgie is singing something in the front room. It sounds a bit like a remix of one of my older songs with lyrics from a Taylor Swift classic instead of mine.
“Interesting choice,” I murmur. It never ceases to bother me that my parakeet likes Taylor more than he likes me. I’ve thought about telling her, but I don’t need to give her more reasons to be awesome.
Someday I want to be Taylor. Just, like, the guy version of her.
Grabbing my phone, I struggle up to my foot and snag a crutch so I can hobble out to the back patio. The doctor said I shouldn’t try to walk on the fracture for another week or so, and I’m actually going to listen to his advice because it hurts like the dickens. But it sure makes it hard to get around.
I don’t even know why I’m coming out here. With the monitor on one foot and the boot on the other, it’s not like I can go for a swim in the pool, and the officer who attached the monitor said it will only take me as far as the edge of the yard, so I won’t be able to take the stairs down to the private beach below. Living in Southern California is great until suddenly you can’t enjoy any of it.
Plopping onto a pool chair, I get myself situated and then tug my shirt free. At least I can work on my tan, though it’s not like anyone will see it. Then I grab my phone and hope Jordan never changed his number.
Liam: Hey man if you ever think about getting back into PR I could really use a guy like you.
He answers surprisingly quickly, and I can’t help but grin at his response.
Jordan: I don’t think even I could fix you punching a guy’s lights out. Nice form though.
Liam: He deserved it.
Jordan: That’s what they all say.
I sigh, suddenly both bored and lonely because my friends are all too busy to keep me company while I’m stuck at home. Derek’s off filming a movie in South America, and Cole has a bad habit of disappearing when it isn’t rugby season, though I have yet to figure out where he goes if he’s not with his longtime girlfriend in Oregon.
I type out another text to Jordan, wishing I had more friends so I could have someone to talk to. Maybe Bonnie is around, though I don’t think Derek would love me hanging out with his girlfriend without him. He’s extra protective of her lately, even though she was part of our friend group before they started dating. And it’s not like I’d ever make a move on her. She’s practically a sister to me.
Liam: What have you been up to since you abandoned me?
Jordan: Oh, just getting married.
Jordan: Again.
I try to remember back in the day when Jordan first took me on as a client, but I don’t think I ever met his wife despite knowing he was hitched. Clearly it didn’t work out.
Liam: Congrats! You’re a brave man to take on the ball and chain.
Jordan: I forgot you were anti-love.
Liam: It’s not that I’m anti-love. I just don’t think it exists.
Jordan: Says the guy who became famous because he wrote a love song.
Liam: It was multiple love songs thank you very much.
Jordan: Been waiting for your new album.
“You and me both,” I murmur, peeking inside the house to where my favorite guitar sits innocently in its stand in the middle of the dining room. Freya, the fifth member of our group, left it there when she was here last as a non-so-subtle hint that my next album is overdue, and I’ve been sorely tempted to tuck it away in a closet in one of the guest rooms so it will stop staring at me so judgingly. I keep hoping the album will write itself, but so far no luck.
Liam: It’s coming along.
Ah, how I love lying to people. Not. But I’ve gotten a little too used to saying that to my agent as well as my group of friends, so it rolls right off the tongue. Er, thumbs.
Liam: Are you still in Cali? We should meet up.
Jordan: Nope. In Sun City now.
Liam: No beaches? *skull emoji*
Jordan: I’m way happier here than I ever was there. You should try life somewhere else.
I would if I could. Except, even without the ankle monitor, I would still be here. I grew up in rural Oklahoma and a million other places, and California was the first place that ever felt like home. I don’t see a reason to mess that up.
Liam: So no chance you’ll come work for me again? Ethan is *vomiting emoji* *poop emoji* *snowflake emoji*
Jordan: Ethan is one of the best.
Liam: Not as good as you. Just move back here with your wife and get me out of this mess.
Jordan: Not taking Brooklyn away from her family. Sorry. Besides, I’ve got my own business now.
Liam: PR?
Jordan: Landscaping.
Liam: Okay weirdo. I can’t imagine that pays as well as I did.
Jordan: Not even close. But I love it, and I’m happy.
Liam: Boo.
Jordan: Have you tried taking a walk? I hear that can help with writer’s block.
That catches me off guard, and I glance around my backyard as if I might find Jordan lurking in the bushes. He’s a pretty intuitive guy, but this seems a little extra. Just in case, I send off a text to the head of security for our gated neighborhood, asking him to send someone to do a sweep of my yard to make sure the paps haven’t gotten in somehow.
Then I take a picture of both my feet and send it to Jordan.
Jordan: Yikes. No walking, then. Is the guy pressing charges?
Liam: Yes but I think I’ll be fine. We’ve got a key witness on our side.
And I probably shouldn’t be texting this to anyone outside my team. I trust Jordan, but I also don’t know for sure that it’s him on the other side of the phone. He’s got the right vibe, but it’s been long enough that he could be anyone.
Liam: But we’re working on building up my case as a precaution.
Jordan: Maybe keep your head down for a while, Liam. And stay off the internet.
Jordan: Ethan’s got your back, so trust him and do what he says.
Liam: I’d rather do what you say.
Jordan: Sorry, man. I’m out of the game.
Jordan: By the way, my wife is a huge fan. She’s screaming right now because she just realized who I’m texting.
Jordan: Apparently I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.
I chuckle, imagining some gorgeous woman sitting next to him because Jordan has the charm of a Hollywood heartthrob and would absolutely land himself a bombshell. I’m glad he found someone, and I hope it works out this time.
Liam: Send me your address and I’ll have my team send her a signed vinyl or something.
Jordan: I think she just burst my eardrum, dude. But thanks! She’s clearly excited.
And I don’t know what to say after that. It’s nice to know I still have at least one fan after all the videos went viral from the fight at my last concert, though Jordan’s wife might be the only one left. The best part about not being on socials is not knowing what people are saying about me, though I have a pretty good guess. Especially after the article Hollywood Hot Scoop posted only minutes after the fight went down.
I hate that site. It brings nothing but trouble, and I blame it entirely for the stupid thing I type next.
Liam: I’ll dedicate my next song to her.
Jordan: How about you not do that?
Jordan: You’re a good looking guy and an even better musician. Maybe it’s time you found someone to dedicate your life to. Someone who isn’t my wife.
Liam: *crying laughing emoji* Not my thing but enjoy your matrimonial life. *diamond ring emoji*
Jordan: Oh, I will. You’re missing out.
Liam: Nah.
I mean that. In my twenty-six years, I’ve never met anyone I wanted to keep around that close. Certainly not anyone who wanted me that close. I’ve got my friends, few though they are, and that’s enough for me. I’m glad Jordan is happy, but you won’t see me falling head over heels for anyone. In my experience, love is a waste of time. My music is all I need.
My doorbell rings, and I frown as I pull up the front camera to find a woman on the front steps with a bright purple bag in her hands.
“Lunch!” I realize out loud. I ordered it when Ethan started droning on and on about my image and then totally forgot. I don’t even know what I ordered. Something delicious…
I look at my fractured foot and sigh before unlocking my front door with my phone and turning on the intercom. “Hi, can you bring that inside?”
The woman jumps at the sound of my voice and starts looking around, though she can’t seem to find the camera. Good. It’s fairly well hidden. “I’ll just leave it on the porch,” she says to the doorbell and starts pulling my food from the bag.
“Ah, but I can’t come get it from the porch, so I would really appreciate it if you brought it inside.”
“I’d really rather not,” she replies.
Most people would kill to get a look inside my house. Pulling my phone closer to my face, I try to get a good look at her, but she’s keeping her head down just enough that I don’t have a clear view of her face. Her voice is lower than I would have expected from a delivery driver, a bit on the husky side.
“Tell you what,” I say right as she’s about to set my food on the step. Sushi! That’s what I ordered. Definitely don’t want to leave that on the porch. “I’ll tip you an extra hundred if you bring it into the backyard so I don’t have to use my crutches and probably drop it on my way to the kitchen table.”
Her shoulders tense, and she searches for the camera again. “Really?”
“Really. Crutches and sushi don’t mix.”
“I mean will you really give me a hundred?”
My stomach growls as if it knows how close I am to food. I slept through breakfast, so I technically haven’t eaten anything yet today. I’m only a few days into this house arrest thing, and already my schedule is all over the place. “I’ll give you two hundred if you stop talking and start walking.”
She scoffs, but then her hand reaches out for the doorknob. She mutters something that sounds a lot like, “Please don’t murder me,” and then she pushes her way inside.
Nelson is quick to greet her with a cheerful, “Chicken noodle soup!”
“I don’t think this is soup,” the woman replies, her voice carrying through the open door. It has risen in pitch from where it was on the porch.
“Why chicken cross road?” Nelson says.
I sit up just a little, figuring I shouldn’t look like I’m totally lounging out here and too lazy to get up. “I’m back here!” I call, eyes on my phone as I figure out how to add an extra tip to my order. I’ve got cash somewhere inside, but I’m not about to get up to find it.
“Other side!” Nelson shouts right as the woman walks directly into the half of the glass door that isn’t open. She collapses on the tile right as my budgie starts whistling the melody of “Shake it Off,” and I’m suddenly regretting this whole bring the food to me idea.
“Hey, are you okay?” I ask, jumping up and hopping in her direction. Only, I lose my balance halfway there and tumble sideways into the pool with a splash.