Detour Complete Series

by Kacey Shea

  When I’ve calmed enough to think straight, I pick up my cell to find out what Glen wants. It’s most certainly not to sleep with me. Fucking, Austin.

  Me: Hey, what’s up?”

  Glen: I was gonna ask if you wanted to hit up Runyon this week, but I see you’re on tour . . .

  A moment later he sends a screenshot of one of the videos I did with Austin.

  Me: Ugh. You saw the video.

  Glen: LOL hell yeah I did.

  Me: Don’t start.

  Glen: What? It was good.

  Me: AND?

  Glen: You always were good at takedowns.

  Me: AND?

  The stupid bubbles appear and re-appear for what feels like forever before his next message finally comes through.

  Glen: Everyone in the department is talking about your ass.

  Me: Fucking hell.

  Glen: All complimentary.

  Me: I’m never coming to happy hour again.

  Glen: Oh, come on! Don’t make such threats.

  Me: My ass is the entire fucking frame!

  Glen: Please. You look the best you have in years. Baby got back.

  Me: It’s HUGE.

  Glen: You’re thick and you look good. I’m defending your honor as much as I can. I stuck Martinez on traffic stops for the month so they’re no longer making lewd comments.

  Glen: At least around me.

  Me: Thank you.

  Glen: One more thing.

  Me: Yeah?

  Glen: Be careful, okay?

  Glen is one of the good guys. The kind of person who considers everyone around him family. But he doesn’t need to be worried about me.

  Me: That’s why I’m on this tour. To keep things safe.

  Glen: No . . . I meant with your heart.

  It catches me off guard. Completely and totally. Glen’s been a friend ever since surviving academy together, and he’s one of the few people I still talk with after leaving the force. We meet up for beers on occasion, or to get in a run, but we don’t do personal matters and we especially don’t talk feelings.

  Me: My heart is in perfect condition.

  Glen: That rock star. Austin.

  Me: Yes?

  Glen: Fuck this, I’m calling.

  My cell rings a second later and I pick up, wildly curious as to why he’s concerned for my heart. “Hey.”

  “Sorry, I should’ve called first.”

  “What’s going on?”

  He exhales harshly. “I don’t trust that Austin guy. Keep an eye on him. Or better yet, stay far, far away.”

  “What are you talking about? You realize that’s impossible.” Understatement of the year, but Glen doesn’t need to know Austin and I are hooking up.

  “I shouldn’t be telling you this, so let’s forget I am, but a buddy of mine works private sector. He’s a retired detective and ex-military. I think I’ve told you about him.”

  “Yeah,” I say, impatient. “What about him?” And what does he have to do with Austin?

  “Austin Jones hires him.”

  “For what?” When he doesn’t answer right away my irritation heightens to severe annoyance. “Glen, stop fucking around. Either say it or don’t.”

  “Sorry, it just pisses me off that you’re stuck working to protect a scumbag.” He clears his throat. “He pays my friend to find girls.”

  My gut churns with dread. “Girls?”

  “Young ones. Homeless. Prostitutes and drug addicts especially.”

  “What does he do with them?”

  “Does it matter? I can’t think of anything chivalrous unless he’s operating some program to get young women off the street, and we both know that’s not happening. If it was, that’d be all over the press.”

  He’s right. I know he is, but I refuse to believe this about Austin. From my time on the force and in private protection, I know better than anyone that people aren’t always who they claim to be. But Austin as a sexual predator? It doesn’t sit right with me. “Are you sure it’s the same Austin Jones?”

  “Positive. We were watching your YouTube video—that’s how it came up—and this guy . . . I don’t condone his lack of moral compass when it comes to his freelance work, but I’d trust him with my life.”

  “Thanks, Glen,” I say numbly, feeling sick and dizzy all at once. “For looking out. I gotta go.”

  “Always. Doesn’t matter that you quit on me, we bleed blue for life.”

  My hands shake and I fight back the urge to puke as I process this news. I can’t believe this is true. Not Austin. Not the man who comforted me when I told him about the assault I experienced as a young woman. Oh, God. My stomach dips. Did that turn him on?

  “Jayla.” Austin’s voice catches me unexpectedly and I jump.

  I spin around to meet his gaze. I didn’t notice him approach. I was too busy freaking the fuck out.

  His footsteps slow with caution when he catches sight of my expression. “Everything okay?”

  No! It’s not okay. Nothing is, I want to scream. I want to sit him down and ask him what the hell he’s doing hiring a PI to find vulnerable women. But I don’t do any of that. Instead, I school my features and harden my heart to the man who’s worked his way too close. “Fine.”

  “You sure about that? ’Cause your face didn’t get the memo.” It’s a stupid attempt at humor but it falls flat, and neither of us give in to a smile.

  I work my jaw back and forth, unable to respond without going off or falling apart.

  “This have something to do with Glen?” Austin asks, but there’s no kindness to his tone. He shakes his head as if he didn’t mean for any animosity to slip. “I’m sorry I acted like a jealous fuck back there.”

  I glance down at my cell, still clutched in my hands.

  “That was him, wasn’t it? So what, did you used to date? Hook up? You can tell me.”

  I frown and shake my head. “No. He’s a friend.” But after this call I can’t help but wonder whether Austin’s jealous or only deflecting. Maybe he’s trying to focus my mind on something else so I won’t see what’s happening. Fuck. Has he been doing this to me the entire time?

  “What did he want?” Austin shoves his hands into his pockets. His arms flex and his jaw is tight as if he’s angry. He couldn’t know what Glen just told me, could he?

  I should clear the air. I should ask the hard questions. But I don’t. Instead, I spit back the same words he used earlier. “It’s nothing.”

  The air crackles between us, as powerful as the current running through the sound and lighting on tonight’s stage. As angry as I am right now, my body tingles with awareness, desire, longing for more of what only Austin gives. I hate myself a little for that.

  “So, that’s how it’s gonna be?” he demands.

  “Yeah.” My irritation grows. Mostly at myself for not being brave enough to ask him the questions.

  He looks as if he’s about to argue, but instead of pushing the issue he shakes his head. “Whatever. I’ve got a show to play.”

  I bite my lip, holding back the urge to have the last word. He wants to walk away. Okay. Fine. That’s how it’s gonna be. I have a job to do, too. Arms crossed over my chest and spine straight, I hold his gaze without wavering while I feel as though my insides shatter in a million pieces.

  He drops his gaze, and the shake of his head as he turns to walk away is both condescending and disappointed. I should feel relief. Righteousness for not caving to his manipulation. Angry even, for this entire situation and how today went from best to worst. But I don’t feel any of those things. Because the trust I was beginning to have in him is tainted. Because a tiny part of me wonders if Glen is right.

  In these short few weeks Austin and I have built a connection I never imagined possible. I was the broken one. The one incapable of mixing pleasure with sex. Until him. But if I discover he’s no better than a monster? The kind that gets off on young girls? Then he won’t only ruin what little hope I have for myself, he’ll obliterate i
t.

  With each stride that separates us, my heart cracks further, and by the time he’s gone I’m certain I’ve lost the best thing in my life.

  The worst part about it? I still think I made the right choice.

  139

  Austin

  I pushed her away.

  As soon as I realize what I accused her of—with no rational basis other than my own jealousy, I race to find her and apologize. Only what do I do? I fuck that up as well. I’m worse than a self-fulfilling prophecy, because I’m the one who pushed her further away. Even if it wasn’t my intention, it’s what I’ve done.

  And why? All because I’m terrified to admit the truth. To tell her about Brianna and the private investigator and the photos I pay for in my desperate attempt to find her. I’m worried she won’t believe me. Or trust me. Or love me enough to see past my failures.

  Because I failed Jayla when she moved away. Not intentionally, but she needed me, and what happened to her after she moved . . . she carried that alone for so long. Bri needed me too, but I was hell bent on proving my mom wrong, chasing the dream I always wanted, and in turn I left a little girl to survive amongst wolves.

  This is all so fucked up. I stomp back to the green room more torn up than when I left. I can’t lose Jayla. Not again. But I don’t know how to make this right. How do I make up for so many years? For the missed letters? For the hurt?

  My anxious thoughts race at a manic pace through my mind, and my body feels too big for my skin. The urge to erase the surge of panic has me digging in my bag for something to light up.

  “Dude, you okay?” Trent puts his hand on my shoulder.

  I stop my search to find everyone staring back with concern. Even the hair and makeup girl, Kellie, looks worried.

  “I’m not gonna break shit if that’s what you’re worried about.” My hands shake, and my pulse races as if it’s going a million miles an hour. “I just need a smoke.” Fucking finally. Deep in the bottom of my bag is the tiny case that holds a half-smoked joint. I pull it out and look around. “Anyone have a lighter?”

  “I got you, boo,” Kellie says with all the sass in the world, and an eye roll for good measure. She pulls one out from one of her big makeup boxes and holds it over her shoulder while still managing to trace Leighton’s eyes in thick liner with the other hand. “Just bring it back when you’re done.”

  “Care if I join you?” Sean asks.

  Of all of these guys, he’s the least likely to kill my buzz. “Sure.”

  He doesn’t ask any more questions and keeps up with my brisk pace as I walk in the opposite direction of the stage. I don’t know where exactly I’m heading, but when I spot a special restroom marked for families, I go there. Inside the room smells like disinfectant and cleaning supplies, which I guess is a hell of a lot better than shitty diapers.

  There’s a rocking chair intended for nursing mothers, I realize, and Sean settles in like it’s as natural as can be for two dudes to hang out in a family bathroom before a show.

  I flip the lock, light up my joint, and inhale a long drag. I haven’t smoked this entire tour, which is really fucking strange for me. Not that I consider myself an addict or anything, but I enjoy a buzz every now and again. I’ve been so wrapped up in Jayla these past weeks that I haven’t even thought about smoking.

  I exhale a plume of smoke before taking another hit. I glance at Sean, expecting him to say something, even if it’s to warn me to take it easy. “What?” I challenge with the lift of my chin. “I know you wanna say something.”

  He just chuckles, rocking himself back and forth in that damn chair. “I don’t have anything to say other than you’re being a selfish ass. You gonna smoke that entire joint without offering me a hit?”

  “Shit. Sorry,” I say and pass it to him.

  He takes a long drag and holds his breath as he hands back the joint.

  I roll the paper between my thumb and middle finger. “I know you heard us arguing.”

  “Yeah, everyone did,” he says on his exhale and shrugs. “So? Couples argue.”

  I take another hit and pass it back to him. “I fucked up.”

  “Of course you did.” He grins.

  “Thanks.”

  “And you’ll probably do it again. At least a hundred times.” He takes one more hit and then snuffs the light out against the side of the trashcan.

  I roll my eyes. “You’re a real friend.”

  “Hey, don’t get pissed at me for stating the truth. But you do realize you can make it right. That’s the thing about fucking up. You have the ability to unfuck it up.”

  “You’re a modern day Aristotle, you know that?”

  “Make all the jokes you want, but you know I’m right.” He chuckles as if he’s so damn smart. He kind of is, though. I set the entire course into play today, starting with the text I received on the ride back from the hotel. Had I taken the time last night to go through the latest images and destroyed the link, my PI would have never followed up. But I was too preoccupied with settling myself inside Jayla’s magic pussy, and then later I forgot. Even the fit of rage I had at seeing some other dude’s name light up her cell phone had everything to do with the insecurity I was feeling.

  Fucked it up.

  Unfuck it.

  “Fucking brilliant.”

  “I know I am. You’re welcome.” He grins, rocking in that chair. Back and forth, back and forth. Damn, that looks relaxing. We should get rocking chairs for the bus. Sean has everything figured out. He’s like a voodoo philosopher or some shit.

  “Thanks, brother.” I shut my eyes and visualize the life I want. The one that Jayla’s in and doesn’t leave. Tonight, I make a vow to tell her everything. Apologize and come clean. I have to unfuck things. I can’t shut her out. I won’t let fear win. Maybe I lose her. Maybe she hates me afterward. But I have to try. She’s too important, and what we have is too special. I may not be much of a fighter, but I’ll fight for her.

  Of course, all of that is gonna have to wait until after the show, because right now I’m really fucking high.

  140

  Jayla

  My eyelids slam shut and I press my lips shut so I won’t scream. I want to cry. My eyes water, but I refuse to do this right now. A sudden urge to ditch this place, hail a cab, and lock myself in my hotel room for the next twenty-four hours is more than tempting. I need to get my head straight, and space alone to process would help. But I don’t have the luxury. I knew it was a risk—getting involved with Austin had the possibility of being messy if things went wrong—only I never imagined it’d go this far south.

  Seriously. What the fuck?

  The more I think about it, I can’t fathom Austin being capable of Glen’s accusations. The Austin I know has a really big heart, and while yes, he has a history of promiscuity, that doesn’t equate to anything other than a high sex drive. After everything I told him about my past and how understanding he was, it doesn’t seem possible he would hurt me this way.

  But Glen would never lie or start shit without proof.

  Real proof. That’s what I need right now. Austin’s been acting shady at times, like today when he got the message on his phone. Was it a photo of some girl? Is that why he shut me out so swiftly after our afternoon together?

  These are the questions I need answers to. Yet the thought of confronting him brings a wave of nausea so fierce I might actually throw up. I hate that I didn’t have the strength to call him out. The words stuck in my throat when I should’ve asked him to explain. Now I’m driving myself crazy running through every possible motive or reason for Austin to be buying pictures of vulnerable girls on the down low.

  But none of that matters because right now I have a job to do. I need to shove my feelings aside and focus on filling up this arena and providing a safe show for everyone. The rest will have to wait. Until I’m locked inside my hotel room there’s no time to fall apart, scream, cry, or do whatever else I must to deal.

  Needing to stay
busy for my sanity, I head outside to lend an extra hand with entry. It’s a good thing too, because several ticket holders decide to cause havoc. There’s one guy who tries to bring his loaded gun to the concert. Dumbass. Then two drunk guys get into a fist fight and injure a few innocent bystanders in the process. Idiots. That’s on top of the normal confiscation of restricted liquids and food that patrons attempt to smuggle in. It all adds stressors to the entry process, and that’s not good when the line is already wrapped around the building.

  The cops respond to our altercation with the drunk wanna-be fighters and after giving my statement, I check in with Brian. The arena is ninety-percent filled and the opening act is on stage, so I head back to the green room.

  One of my regular tasks is to escort the guys to the stage and run point on security until they’re safely tucked inside the bus for the night—or rather hotel tonight. This is something I look forward to. I love watching the guys perform and I often catch a few songs from backstage. But not tonight. No. I wish I were headed anywhere else in this arena right now. I feel raw and angry, and unprepared to have any kind of conversation with Austin.

  My feet feel heavy in my shoes as I radio to check in with the rest of the team. “Give me updates.” Please, no more problems.

  “Jayla? We’ve got an unattended bag in section 328. Black backpack. Just outside the restrooms off the concourse,” Terrance reports in his low timbre through our secured line.

  Shit. This night isn’t getting any easier. “Clear the area and check with employees.” I head in that direction and tap on my cell to call Brian. “Hey, you get all that?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Want me to head over?”

  “No.” I shake my head even though he can’t see. “I’m already close, and if it’s a problem I should be there. I need you to get to the green room though, escort the guys to the stage on Casey’s lead.”

  “You sure?” There’s surprise in his reply because it’s a task I haven’t delegated this entire tour.