by Max Henry
When are the others due to hit?
They have a location for the informant tonight. He’ll get his late this afternoon earliest. Jeanie should be served this morning as well.
My fucking heart stutters. I flick threads and hammer her a quick directive.
DON’T FUCKING TALK TO ANYONE BEFORE YOU SEE ME. I’M FUCKING SERIOUS.
“All good?” Emery drops onto the arm of the seat beside me.
I nod and shift threads back to Rick. I still don’t want her involved. It’s like giving a child a slice of cake and then punishing them for eating it when you leave the room. Temptation.
You need to stop watching those Netflix docos. I sense Rick’s frustration through the simple words. We’ve been over this. If you’ve cut ties like I told you to, we have no issue.
And therein lies my problem. Wallace’s warning about keeping our shit on the straight and narrow sits fresh in our memories, and here I am sneaking the enemy into camp. Ask me if I give a fuck. I don’t. But it makes it fucking hard to explain why I care so much what happens to a journo who bought my details. Without justifying the emotional connection, there’s no logical reason in hell why I’d want her to get off without consequence.
I recheck the flight tracker and figure I might as well leave early to make sure there aren’t any servers around waiting to jump Jeanie the second that she steps off the plane. I’ve heard of court officials buying tickets for the same flight as a target to ensure they get them unawares. Luckily, I don’t think that highly of myself. Otherwise, I’d be concerned about it being a real possibility today.
“Hey,” Em whispers, leaning closer. “What’s with Rey? Is he manic again?”
I glance up at my brother left through the exit to have a smoke. “Nah. New meds are working okay—this week.”
“One’s he’s taken before?” Kris asks, about to join him outside.
I shake my head, the conversation giving me a new angle to hit Rick with. “Not as strong as the others, but it has less side-effects.”
Have you done background on her? What if she has mental issues like Rey? You know how shit like this can throw people off balance.
It’s fucking low, but I’m desperate for excuses.
You’re fucking kidding me now. You want me to test if she’s mentally stable enough to plead her case?
What the fuck do you expect to get out of her? She won’t have enough money to pay for damages.
Do you think the jerk who sold your number does?
More likely since you said it wasn’t the only info he sold.
Why don’t you tell me what’s really on your conscience? I can ring you in a few minutes.
I glance up to find Rey back in the booth, slinging the guitar strap over his head. Don’t. Rey’s playing. I need to listen in.
Bullshit, I do. We’ve worked the same section for the past forty minutes. I know what I need to do back-to-front. I’ve laid my beats, and now the guys work on matching their sections’ timing with the tech’s help.
We’re not after the woman for monetary gain, Rick explains. The bubbles pop up as he taps them out, one paragraph at a time. Unless you want to fight this on a larger scale ten years from now, we’re best to set a precedent early. We’re here to teach these motherfuckers not to mess with your privacy. You know? The thing you flipped your lid about a month ago? What the fuck is different? Is it your turn to have a goddamn meltdown and disappear off the radar? Because I tell you right now, I am not putting up with that shit when you’re the first week back at it.
I exhale heavily out my nose, barely noticing Kris and Emery when they re-enter the room. If I did go on a bender—which I’m not—don’t you think it’s about time it was my turn? It’s always some other motherfucker getting to break down and have an impromptu holiday. I’ve never done that. Always been the reliable one. I don’t ask you for much, Rick. But the one time I really want you to do something for me, you deny my request. Thanks a lot, asshole.
Fuck you. I can hear his voice in my head as I read the words. You won’t tell me why. I NEED TO KNOW WHY if you want me to get this past my old man.
He’s right, and that’s what I hate the most. I flick over to check on Jeanie’s flight, my focus off the message thread enough that I tune into the amused tone of Emery’s voice to my left.
“You didn’t want me there, to begin with, remember? Figured you wouldn’t mind if I left.” He clutches his phone to his ear as he makes a getaway out the exit door.
He works on things with his girl. Rey has Tabby. And Kris finally admitted things with Henley are serious. What about me? What the fuck do I get? I kill the screen on my phone and shove the fucker into my pocket as I rise from the seat. Kris glances across from where he stands behind the sound tech, keeping an eye on how Rey progresses with the problematic bars.
“Everything okay?”
“Got something I need to sort out.” I hate lying to the guy, but it’s not all untrue. “Call me if you need me back sooner, but I should be back in a couple of hours.”
He nods, his long black hair sliding off the stacked hood of his sweatshirt to hide half his face. Just how the guy likes it—secluded. “Get us something to drink while you’re out.”
“Sure.”
I envy Kris’ dark horse persona. He can skulk around in the shadows, and nobody asks a damn thing. It’s natural for him to disappear for hours at a time, and nobody ever questions why.
I bust out the recording studio’s front entrance and check both ways. Fuck knows what for. It’s not like Rick will be standing there, ready to follow me. Then again, weirder things have occurred when a label doesn’t trust their asset. All the same, I shrug the collar of my jacket higher and duck my head as I make a direct line for the road.
I’ve got thirty-five minutes to get across to the airport before Jeanie’s feet touch the ground. And like fuck, a process server is the first person she’ll see.
FORTY-FOUR
Jeanie
“Level” – Black Pistol Fire
I stare down at the message Toby sent in shouty caps. What the hell crawled up his ass? The line of passengers shuffles toward the front of the plane. The seatbelt light clicked off less than fifteen seconds ago, and already I have four people wrestling laptop bags and briefcases in front of me. If it wasn’t awkward enough being in business class again, I feel like the black sheep now that I stand here with my backpack slung over one shoulder, ready to go.
Just landed. See you soon… if you’re here.
Waiting.
My chest warms a little at his immediate response. I debated rejecting his tickets when he emailed them through; the whole setup felt too much like a booty call. But Toby’s right. I have fuck all else to do that can’t be done from where he is. Why not get the best of both worlds for a while?
The woman in front of me clocks me in the shoulder with her heavy-as-fuck satchel when it falls from the overhead storage. “Oh, my gosh. I’m so sorry.” She gushes over me, seemingly not put off by my torn band T-shirt, black skinny jeans, and chunky black boots.
I could hug her. “It’s fine. An accident.” I smile at her.
She visibly relaxes. “Honestly, I’m so clumsy.”
“We all have our moments.”
She grins and turns toward the front of the plane when the guy behind her moves. Within seconds we stroll down the gangway like a line of cattle off to slaughter. Only, the reward I get at the end of this is a hell of a lot better. The hallway opens up, natural light filtering in and taking over from the pale blue of the fluorescent overheads. I scout the waiting crowd for a tall blond, gaze darting past a line of people waiting on the other passengers.
“Jeanie Miller?”
I turn to the right, the dude in a suit behind jostling me toward the middle-aged woman who somehow knows my name. Toby’s message flashes through my mind. Don’t fucking talk to anyone.
“Jeanie Miller?” she repeats.
I barely register the complaint of a
flight attendant behind me before a much more familiar voice calls my pet name. “Vulture!” Toby barrels through the steady line of passengers, knocking people in either direction as he moves. “Don’t say a fucking thing.” He reaches me in what feels like a split-second, bending slightly to wrap his long arms around me in a tight bear hug.
I’m literally lifted off my feet and spun in the opposite direction. The psycho soccer mom launches her attack, slamming into Toby’s back as she attempts to slap something on me.
“Jeanie Miller. Please confirm your identity.” She attempts to swing around the man hoisting me through the crowd.
“Why does she want to know that?” I ask, pulling my head back far enough to see Toby’s maddened scowl.
“Don’t say anything until she’s gone. Okay?”
“Excuse me, sir!” The woman latches on to Toby’s arm, pinching me in the process. “Can you let the lady down?”
“Fuck off.” I feel the force of his roar through his chest.
“Ma’am, you need to confirm if your name is indeed Jeanie Miller.”
“Nothing,” Toby growls through a stiff jaw.
I watch the airport recede behind him, the woman chasing after us through the terminal until we reach the exit doors. Toby sets me on my feet when we get to the sidewalk, quite the sideshow following behind us, considering he just carried me through the place as though I was a child having a tantrum. I’m spun with firm hands on my shoulders and directed toward a waiting car.
The whole scenario is surreal. I’m bundled into the back of a tinted car, chauffeured by some guy in a dress shirt and slacks, onlookers recording the whole scene on their phones.
“Fuck.” Toby dives both hands into his hair and then drags the palms down his face. “Ugh!”
“What the hell was that all about?” I twist a little to get my backpack out from where it’s wedged between me and the seat.
The car darts through the congestion toward the main road out.
“She wanted to serve you.” He turns his gaze to me, and I shrink at the evident rage that remains in his icy stare. “She was a process server sent to give you court summons.”
“Excuse me?” I peer out at him from under my raised brow. “What the fuck, Toby?”
He lets his head collapse onto the seat and closes his eyes. “If you’d said your name—confirmed who you are—she could have drop-served you.”
“Drop-served?”
“Thrown the fucking papers at your feet.” He snaps his eyes open and lifts his head to stare at the back of the passenger seat.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” the driver says. “But we’re still headed straight to Hotel Du Pont?”
“Yes. Thanks.” Toby’s attention shifts to me. “Are you okay?”
“Okay, how?” I half chuckle, on the border of hysteria. “I’m due in court, and I don’t know why.”
He sighs, running his bottom lip between his teeth before he answers. “It’s to do with the breach of confidentiality that meant you got my number.” I hate the pained peak to his brow.
“I’m screwed, aren’t I?” My voice is quiet in the luxury car.
“Not yet.”
I turn my head and stare out the windshield, fighting the burn that grows hotter by the second. “How long have you known about this?”
“Almost as long as I’ve known you.” The guilt fucking drips from his words.
“You absolute fucking asshole,” I growl low in my throat, fixing Toby with the full force of my wrath. “Was this the plan all along?”
“No. I—”
“You figured this would be a great way to get back at me?” The driver flicks his gaze to the rearview at the pitch of my voice. “You did threaten me when I said I’d write the story.”
“I didn’t tell you because I tried to stop it,” he hollers, throwing a fist into the back of the seat in front. “Fuck!”
My chest rises and falls in rapid succession, heartbeat thrumming at my pulse points. I’m contained in a four-wheeled cage with this tiger, waiting to get my head ripped off.
“It’s complicated,” Toby groans from behind his hands. He drags them down his face again—something he appears to do when frustrated. “Rick won’t cut you out of the court case unless I tell him why it matters to me.”
“Who else is involved?” I press myself against my side of the car to save from rolling against Toby on a corner.
“Devon. Marcel.”
“Who?”
“Your informant.” So, that was Mole’s name. “They need your involvement to cement the point of our argument.”
“Which is?” I whisper. My whole pathetic life flashes before my eyes; I can’t recover from something like this.
“They’re suing for publication of private facts.”
I feel as though I’m going to be sick. “None of what I wrote was fact. I made it all up.”
His shoulders heave with a drawn-out breath. “Parts were true.”
Silence falls between us. I stare at the profile of this broken man, the cracks in his previously impenetrable armor so clear now. “Which ones?” I hardly dare to ask the question, which is why I barely whisper the words.
Toby takes his time to answer, seemingly lost in his thoughts. “You touched on my influence over Rey.”
“That’s not rocket science when you’re his big brother,” I say when he refuses to add more.
He lifts his tired gaze to mine. “I’ve used that to my advantage,” he admits. “Quite a few times.” His brow twitches into a deep frown, and he closes his eyes briefly. “This last tour, I made him believe that I wanted him to continue past his breaking point because he had no choice.” I’m left speechless when a single drop balances at the pinched outer corner of his eye. “He had a choice,” Toby rasps. “I could have put my foot down and taken him home.” He swallows—hard, before opening his eyes. “I could have got him the help he needed, but I kept my brother drugged and barely functioning so I could save my career.”
Toby might hold his tears at bay, but I cry for him. I cry for how fucked up this hamster wheel of fame is. For the pressure put onto normal human beings to be something otherworldly and almost god-like in their persona.
“Don’t.” Toby sighs and shakes his head. “You don’t get to cry about this.”
“It’s so fucking wrong,” I whine. “It’s not fair that you’re put in that position. That you have to make that choice.”
He scoots closer while we’re stopped at a red light. Neither of us pays the driver any mind. The world exists within the confines of the back seat, in the heated air between us.
“I’ll pay for everything.” He wraps his outer leg around mine, pushing tight, so there’s barely any room left. “This won’t affect you at all.”
I rest my hand over his and trap it to my thigh. “But it will.” He swallows when I meet his gaze. “If I’m found guilty of this, of publishing private facts, I’ve broken a cardinal rule of journalism. My reputation will be fucked.”
“Memory will fade.” He sets a hand to the side of my face and sweeps away the remaining tears with his thumb.
“You don’t get it.” I roll my eyes to the roof, jolting a little closer when the car takes a corner. “I brought this on myself. I knew what I did buying your info, and I didn’t care. I deserve whatever the hell comes my way, and even if by some miracle you did get me out of it, my conscience won’t let me forget it.”
“For fuck’s sake.” He sets his forehead against mine. “We’ll work it out. I’ll work it out.”
“I don’t know if you can.”
The car rolls to a stop. “Sir? We’ve arrived.”
FORTY-FIVE
Toby
“Be My Fire” – The Blue Stones
Jeanie exits the car first, dragging her loaded backpack out behind her. I scout the area for media or servers and then push myself out the same door.
“Thanks for your discretion.” I don’t expect it, but I sure hope that at least
one person in this world has a shred of decency.
“Hey, man.” The driver lifts his hands from the wheel. “Not my issues. Not my business.”
“Appreciated.” I shut the door and then turn to locate Jeanie.
She’s already in the fucking lobby.
Her hair falls across her back in the waves I love, the worn denim jacket snug against her waistline. I sigh as I approach, gutted that I need to interrupt her when she enjoys the view. The hotel lobby is something else with its ornate ceiling, but they all become much the same after a while.
“We better get upstairs.”
“In case there’s another server?” She wipes her face with the back of her wrist, her gaze scouring the open space around us.
“Among other things.” I’ve got no idea how much of what people caught on their phones has already hit social media, but I can guarantee if any of it has, Rick will be all over that shit.
I left my courage somewhere in that fucking car. From the moment I read Jeanie’s first draft of the article, I knew there was an element of truth to it. When Devon connected the theory to the practical facts of our last tour, it ripped a goddamn vein wide open. I’ve tried to ignore the truth, to bury it behind the job at hand, to deny its existence by never speaking on it.
But voicing the words to Jeanie just now? I may as well have spoken my deathbed confession. It feels that fucking grave.
I steer Jeanie toward the lifts and then stand by her side in silence while we ride up to my floor. Her distant stare tells me all I need to know about her current mood, and, to be fair, I feel the same. I can’t be fucked talking about the elephant in the room. I’d rather have it crush me against the wall until I can’t breathe any more than face the mammoth task of getting it out the fucking door.
I slide the keycard through the lock and then push the suite door open. Jeanie wanders through and immediately sets her backpack on the sofa. She remains quiet while she pulls her small laptop from the back and then seats herself with it on her lap.
