by Shandi Boyes
With how loose my grip on reality is, I can’t add any more to my plate. Call me a coward, but since there’s only so much I can handle at once, I stuck my head in the sand in regards to all aspects of my relationship. Just the hurt look Lola gives me every time she enters Noah’s room has me on the verge of breaking. I can’t add more.
Me losing my marbles won’t help anyone. It won’t help Lola; it won’t help Noah, and it most definitely won’t help Emily. She hasn’t nosedived into depression like Noah did when his brothers died, but I can’t guarantee that wouldn’t have been the case if I wasn’t at her side the past eight weeks. She’s not strong like Lola. She’s only half as brave as my girl is—was.
I run a shaky hand over my head, pretending the world hasn't fallen out from beneath my feet. I'd give anything for a redo of the past two months. I wouldn't do anything the same—not a single fucking thing. I'd stop Noah from getting in that fucking cab; then I'd handle my disagreement with Lola in a more respectable manner—and I wouldn’t let jealousy stop me from talking to her for weeks on end.
Even without knowing what happened between her and Flynn, I miss her more than words will ever explain—enough to have me reaching for my phone for the tenth time this morning. It takes a few seconds to fire up since I turn it off while in Noah’s room, but when it does, it explodes with Google alert after Google alert I set for Noah. They all follow a similar tune:
Noah Taylor, lead singer of Rise Up, in tragic accident.
When I click on a link, it takes me to a live broadcast of a popular morning news program. My breath hitches when the reporter’s location registers as familiar. She’s standing at the front of a hospital—a hospital that looks remarkably similar to the one Noah is a patient at.
Ignoring the barista’s attempt to hand me my order, I move to the main window of the café. It faces the main street. I can barely see the reporters standing shoulder to shoulder on the entrance stairs of Ravenshoe Private Hospital because over a dozen news vans are blocking my view. Security personnel have them contained for now, but I don’t see that lasting long. The paps are a hungry bunch.
As I bolt back to Noah’s room, the breakfast I was fetching for Emily and me is long forgotten. Emily’s hungry gaze notices my empty hands within a nanosecond of me entering Noah’s suite, but my quick snatch of the remote from Noah’s bed shifts her focus. “It’s all over the media.”
“What is?”
When I switch on the TV hanging above Noah’s bed, we catch the last half of the live broadcast.
“Noah Taylor, lead singer of Rise Up, was reportedly involved in a serious traffic accident six weeks ago. Initial reports indicated that Rise Up failed to fulfill their contractual agreement with Summit Entertainment because Taylor was admitted to Hills Hope Rehabilitation Center for a mandatory drug and alcohol program. We’ve since learned Taylor’s transport was struck by a semi-trailer, killing taxi driver Ben Ebbett. Rise Up’s publicist, Delilah Winterbottom, confirmed Taylor is in serious but stable condition. We’ll keep you updated on his progress as we receive it. Back to you, Kylie.”
When the segment switches back to the morning show hosts, I turn off the TV before gesturing for Emily to join me in the corridor. We’re barely halfway out of Noah’s room when Emily’s curiosity gets the better of her. “Why would initial reports claim Noah was in rehab? What benefit would anyone get pretending he has a drug and alcohol problem? It doesn't make any sense.”
“I don’t know what benefit they’d get, but I’m reasonably sure I know who did this.” When Emily peers at me with wide, confused eyes, I do my best to settle it. “Delilah has been calling nonstop. Her messages all focused on one thing: did I know why Noah had a marriage license issued in his name?”
I dig my phone out of my pocket before opening up my internet app. After typing Noah's name into the search bar, I hand my phone to Emily. "Every media source in the country is running the story of Noah's accident. Who's to say eight weeks ago, they weren't prepared to expose his plans to wed?"
Emily shrugs, unconvinced. "I kept details of our wedding on the down-low."
“Marriage licenses are public record. It wouldn’t take an intern long to discover your plans, much less a publicist hellbent on keeping her star’s status as single.”
Emily stomps down her foot like she’s about to have a tantrum. “You’re right. She was ropeable when Noah declared he was in love on MTV, so she’d do everything in her power to bury any stories on his plan to wed. But this...making Noah look like a drug addict. That's lower than low. We can't let her do this, Jake. We need to stop her."
“I think I know how.” The anger lining her cheeks fades when I ask, “Will you be okay if I leave you with Noah for a couple of hours?”
“Yes, I guess—”
I cut off her confirmation by planting a kiss on her cheek. I hate leaving Noah, but this can’t wait. “I’ll be back in an hour. If anything happens, call me right away!” I shout while sprinting for the parking lot.
I’m not going to lie; my body kicks up a stink about my fast pace. My fitness has slithered down the drain the past eight weeks.
After throwing open my car door, I slip into the driver’s seat. My fingers tap my steering wheel as effectively as my heart pounds my ribcage when my first turn of the keys has my engine roaring to life. With how long my car has been sitting unused, I’m shocked the battery has any charge.
My luck appears to have run out when the parking attendant advises me the amount required for me to exit the secure lot.
“How much?”
“One thousand, nine hundred, and sixty dollars,” he repeats, his voice growing squeakier with every syllable he speaks.
“How the fuck is it so high?”
“The parking rate is thirty-five dollars a day. You’ve been parked here for eight weeks.”
He gives me a look as if to say you do the math.
I do. It doesn’t work out well for me.
After biting out a curse word, I hand the attendant my credit card. I’ll most likely be hit with an overdraft fee, but I’ll worry about that later.
I make the ten-mile trip from the hospital to my childhood home in record-breaking time. My speed was nearly as fast as my dad’s when he gallops down the front stairs. “Is Noah okay?”
Guilt makes itself known with my gut. I haven’t been home since the day Noah was transferred to Ravenshoe—not even for Christmas Day—so my unexpected arrival probably startled him half to death.
“He’s fine, but I need that contract you stored for him in your safe.”
Nodding, my dad follows me to the safe bolted to the floor in his office. He enters the combination—my mother’s birthday—before handing me the document, which was right next to the contract I signed to be Isaac’s fighter nearly two years ago.
“What’s going on? Anything I can help with?”
“You know how you always said to read every line of a contract before signing it?” I pause so he can nod. “I don’t apply that rule just to contracts I sign. I do it for others as well...” My words trail off when I find what I’m looking for. “And it’s about to pay off.”
I slap my father’s cheeks before planting a sloppy peck to the edge of his mouth. “Thanks, Dad! You’re a fucking lifesaver!”
He loses the chance to reprimand me for swearing when I tear out of his driveway as fast as I entered it.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Walters, neither Cormack or Delilah are answering.”
“Can you try Cormack’s cell again? Tell him Jacob is waiting for him, and I’m not leaving until I see him.” I point to a chair butted up against her desk. “I’ll wait for him right there.”
Destiny Records’ head receptionist’s throat works hard to swallow before she redials Cormack’s number for the fourth time the past ten minutes.
An hour passes before Cormack finally strolls into the office. His low-hanging shoulders have me hesitant to approach him, but the bitch smirking at me from behind his sh
oulder quells any chance of me walking away quietly. Delilah is on his heels, looking as snarky as ever.
Peta, Cormack’s receptionist, rushes to his side to announce he has a pesky visitor, but I beat her to the punch. That’s not hard considering a man of my size only needs to stand to gain the attention of every person in a room.
“Jacob, what are you doing here?”
I slant my head to the side so I can lock my eyes on Delilah. “Maybe you should ask her that question?”
“What now?” Cormack mutters before shifting on his feet to face Delilah. She tries to act innocent, but it’s a woeful waste of time. No one with eyes of the devil can pretend to be saintly. “Let’s take this somewhere else.”
Cormack waves his hand to a boardroom at the side of the foyer. When we enter, I move to the far side of the table. I don’t want anything blocking my view when Delilah discovers what I have up my sleeve for her.
After sitting opposite me, Cormack locks his blue eyes with mine. “What can we help you with?”
“Fire her—immediately.” My eyes stray to Delilah. “Then, if you’re lucky, Rise Up will remain the star act of your record label.”
Spit shoots out of Delilah’s mouth like venom when she snarls, “Rise Up is contractually bound to Destiny Records, and nothing you or that silly little hick Noah wanted to marry say will change that.”
“Is that right?” When Delilah slumps in her chair, believing she has the advantage, I lay out my winning hand. “The contract Noah signed is null and void.”
I push the contract to their side of the desk. It’s open to the section I was seeking earlier. A missed signature might not seem like much, but it’s the equivalent of a fatal error on a legally binding document.
I can tell the exact moment Cormack spots what I’m referring to. He hisses out a curse word as his fingers rake through his hair. “What do you want?”
“Fire Delilah, or I’ll encourage Emily—who happens to be Noah’s power of attorney—to sign the country’s current number one selling band to another label.”
I anticipate for Cormack to react negatively to my demand, so you can imagine my surprise when he simply smiles before shifting his gaze to Delilah. “I’m sorry, Dee, but I have to let you go.”
She shoots out of her chair like her ass is on fire. “Why are you letting this ape dictate what you do? You’re the managing director of this company, yet you're allowing an imbecile bully you into firing me.”
Delilah's face reddens with anger when Cormack mutters, “Be sure to have your desk cleared out by the end of the day.”
“You’re a...” Look up every swear word you’ve ever heard, then you’ll have an idea of what Delilah just said. “This isn’t the end! I’m taking this further.”
After snatching her coat from her chair, she storms out of the office. She rambles the entire way, startling more than a dozen employees at Destiny Records.
Once her rant dulls to a hum, Cormack slumps low in his chair before making a tipi with his index fingers and thumbs. “How long have you known about the missing signature?”
A victorious grin stretches across my face. “Since the day Noah signed the contract.”
“Then why didn’t you say something? We could have used that when he was being sued!”
“I never got a chance. Isaac interrupted our conversation by offering to pay the amount Summit Hill was requesting. Although it wasn’t ideal, I was confident Rise Up’s record sales would easily cover their debt, so I held off until I needed it. Today I needed it.”
Cormack smirks. “If only you had told me an hour ago, then I wouldn’t have wasted my precious time searching for a legitimate way to fire her.” He leans forward until his elbows are resting on the table. “I bumped into Delilah having a go at Emily—that’s why I couldn’t be reached. Emily assured me she’s fine, but I think she’s still a little rattled. You should probably go check to make sure she’s okay.”
When I stand, he slides Noah’s contract back to my side of the desk. “What happens now?”
“That’s up to Noah.” I stuff the contract in the breast pocket of my jacket. “But I know him. If you do right by him, he’ll have no reason to seek alternative representation.”
Cormack isn’t a bad guy; he just hired the wrong woman to represent Rise Up. For what reason, I don’t know, but I’m glad it’s over.
I wait for Cormack to nod before exiting the boardroom. After returning the contract to my dad’s safe, I head back to the hospital. For the first time in weeks, my pulse is thrumming with excitement instead of fear. I can’t wait to tell Noah and Emily about how I slayed a dragon without breaking a sweat.
Just as I enter Noah’s hospital room, I’m blinded by a flash of light. After squinting to adjust my vision, I spot a man with a camera barging past Emily. When he elbows the little curve in her stomach, I see red.
"What the fuck are you doing in here?" I grab him by the scruff of his shirt so I can yank him into the hallway.
He fights me all the way. “Get off me; I’m just doing my job.”
When he snaps another two pictures of Noah lying lifeless on his hospital bed, I snatch the camera out of his hand before searching for the SD card. Once it’s in my hot little hand, I throw his camera to the ground then shatter it with my foot. I don’t know if it has an internal memory, so I can’t risk him having images on there.
As I hand Emily the SD card, the paparazzi venomously snarls, “You should turn off the life support. He’d be worth more dead than alive.”
Rage fills me. It’s hot, black, and ugly. Those are the exact words Noah’s mom said when I called to tell her about Noah’s accident.
“You fucking piece of shit!” In a blur of fury, I charge for him. I pole drive into him so hard, his head cracks the glass of the room opposite Noah’s before he hits the floor like a bag of shit. Recklessly, and without pause for consideration, I rain my fists down on his face. I beat the living hell out of him, not stopping until two security officers drag me off him, and even then, an occasional fist hits its mark.
“You’re arresting the wrong person. Jacob didn’t do anything wrong. He’s the one you should be arresting.”
When I follow the direction of Emily’s finger point, blood scorches my veins. The stupid fuck I just assaulted is smirking at me, like elbowing a pregnant woman who’s attempting to protect her fiancé is funny.
I’ll show him how funny it is.
After shrugging out of the security officers' hold, I dive for the unnamed man again. Two of his front teeth scatter across the floor a mere second before it feels like someone sets my eyelids on fire.
“Fuck!” I drop to my knees, my hands darting up to rub my eyes. The harder I scrub, the more they burn. It feels like someone poured gasoline over my head before tossing a match at me.
When someone wraps their arms around my shoulders, I yank away from them. I can’t see anything through my swollen eyes, so I have no clue who is approaching me and for what reason.
“It’s me.” Emily's tone is as silky as the water she pours over my eyes after raising my head via my chin. "They hit you with pepper spray. This should help the burn." After dumping a bottle of water over my eyes, two round circles cover them. I can't be certain since I can't see two feet in front of me, but I'm reasonably sure they’re the cucumber slices she picks off her sandwiches every day. She hates cucumber with a passion.
Once the burn lessens, so does the fury in my veins. “I’m sorry, Em—”
“Don’t you dare apologize. You did nothing wrong.” She stops to suck in a quick breath before advising me she’ll be back.
Even though I can’t see, my hearing works just fine. “You need to help him. He didn’t do anything wrong. He was defending Noah.”
“I don’t know what I can do. It’s not just the paparazzi pressing charges; the security officers are lining up as well.” I hear a noise, like someone scrubbing stubble on their chin. “I’ll do everything I can, but he needs a good
lawyer.”
I blink through the blur in front of me when someone helps me from the ground before circling cuffs around my wrists. I'm not one hundred percent certain, but I'm reasonably sure the blob of blue in front of me is Ryan.
My suspicions are confirmed when he says, “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used you against you in a court of law...”
Chapter Forty-Four
Lola
I slide a beer across the bar to Bob, one of Pete’s regulars, before digging my ringing cell phone out of my pocket. Although Pete has a stern no phones at work policy, he gave me a free pass after I informed him about Noah’s accident. He’s adamant I can only use it in emergency situations, which I’m fine with. No one calls me anymore, so that’s all it would be used for.
“Hello.” My voice is apprehensive since I didn’t recognize the number flashing across the screen.
I exhale my nerves with a big breath when my caller asks, “How’s my pretty lady?”
“I’m good, Hank. You?” With my phone held to my ear by my shoulder, I refill the empty peanut containers on the bar. “Miss me already? I only left you at lunchtime."
“I always miss having a pretty lady around, but that’s a story for another day.”
Smiling, I ring up Tallas’ tab before devoting my focus back to Hank. “I offered to hook you up. You keep denying my requests.” I hand Tallas his change before pulling another beer for Bob. By keeping busy, I don’t feel as guilty about breaking Pete’s rules. “Have you changed your mind?”
“Do pigs fly?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Do they?”
A small stretch of silence passes between us. It's nothing new for us. We can go an hour without talking, and it never feels awkward.
What Hank says next, though, it’s as awkward as it comes. “I know you say things are over between you and Jacob, but I know you still care about him, so I thought I oughta tell you what’s going on.”
