by Jamie Howard
“Felix—”
“Not because I don’t want to leave the house. But with going out on tour I think it might be the only way that I could be involved in something like that consistently. Plus, being who I am, I’d prefer the anonymity.”
“You’ve really given this some thought.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Can I ask what changed your mind?”
I drummed my fingers against the plush black leather underneath me. “I’ve been seeing someone. I think she might be the one, Marge.” I lifted my shoulder in a half-shrug, my heart tripping slightly on the admission. “In the beginning I couldn’t believe that she’d want me. She’s gorgeous, smart, famous. She could have pretty much any guy she wanted and I couldn’t possibly understand why that person would be me.”
One brow tripped up in question. “And now?”
“I almost lost her, almost ruined one of the best things I’ve got going in my life all because I was so fucking worried about what people would think. About how they’d react. Worrying that I didn’t deserve her.” I huffed out a breath as I ran a hand over my hair. “She said something to me a couple weeks ago that just really clicked things into place for me—I deserve whatever the fuck I want. And what I want is my life back. I want her, and this tour, and to just be me again.” I leveled a finger at her. “I want to give those KAFO braces you’ve been talking about a shot.”
She tipped her head back, her gaze coasting over the ceiling I knew so well. When her eyes met mine again they were crinkled at the corners. “Thank baby Jesus. I never thought I’d be hearing those words coming out of your mouth.” Her hand landed on my shoulder and squeezed. “I’m proud of you, kid. But I hope you don’t think this is going to be a quick, easy solution. We’ll have to get you fitted for the braces, you’ll have to work with them, get used to them. You won’t be walking overnight.”
“You think a little hard work is going to scare me away?” I shook my head at her. “I spent six goddamn months re-learning how to play the drums.”
“All right then. We’ll set up the appointment to get you cast for the braces, and then we’ll go from there.” She slipped her suitcase-size purse over her shoulder. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”
“Sweet. I’ll keep my phone on me at all times.”
She froze with the door half-open and looked back at me over her shoulder. “Do not answer my call if you’re in the bathroom. If I hear one toilet flush—”
“Fine.” I held up my hands in surrender. “Whatever you say, Marge.”
I could hear her grumbling all the way through my apartment, the sound of it only getting cut off when the front door clicked closed behind her. With a lightness in my bones I hadn’t felt in for-fucking-ever, I hoisted myself into my chair and wheeled myself into the kitchen. I snatched my phone off the island and gave it a quick glance.
Holy. My social media accounts were still blowing up, days after I casually posted a picture of me and Jules on Instagram with the caption: You guys should know better than to believe rumors . . . but just this one time, you were right. The thing had been shared thousands of times over, retweeted even more. It was insane. Half the people were declaring us the next Brangelina, the other half were furious, declaring one or the other of us could do better. Better yet, the press was still trying to nail down a couples title for us. So far I’d heard Feliet, Julix, and Donolair. All of which sounded fairly ridiculous, if you asked me.
As soon as I’d posted the damn thing, Gavin had glanced up from his spot on the couch, his hand shoved in a box of Crunch Berries pinned between the cushions, and wiggled his phone at me. “Nice work, dude.” Sixty seconds after that, Ben called. Other than his initial outrage at not being consulted beforehand, he actually seemed pretty pleased with the development. It was attention for the band after all.
My phone chirped at me, that lovely sound I’d assigned just for Jules.
Jules: Ally’s still pissed at me.
I rolled my eyes. Between Ally and Ben I wasn’t sure who the bigger control freak was. I understood she had a big hand in managing Juliet’s life, but seriously? Did we really need her permission to go public with our relationship? That would be a no.
Felix: She’ll get over it. Promise.
I made a pit stop at the refrigerator, taking a good, long swig out of the OJ container.
“There are clean frickin glasses like three feet to your right.” Gavin gave me a dirty look as he strode into the kitchen, nothing but a pair of purple boxer briefs clinging to his hips.
“There’s also, I dunno, a hundred or so outfits in your bedroom, yet you continue to parade around like we live in a nudist colony.”
He glanced down at himself, then back up at me. His fingers tugged at his waistband, letting it snap back into place. “These are real, aren’t they?”
I snorted as I shoved the OJ back where it belonged. “You still flying high from last night?”
A shrug, his hand drifting up to scratch through his hair.
“You gotta cut that shit out, man.”
Another shrug as he brushed by me to rustle through the fridge. He came out with a Chinese food carton and immediately fished out a fork, twirling it through some cold-ass, slimy noodles.
“I’m serious. You can’t do this when we’re out on the road. I can’t cover for you with Ben and you know he’d have an aneurysm if he found out.” It was one of the few band rules we had—no drugs, zero, zip. Ben had zero tolerance for it. He’d booted the first guitarist we had for that exact reason, which was how Ian ended up with us. Now, it might be a little tougher since we weren’t nobodies anymore, but it’d be another drama-filled problem we didn’t need.
He slurped down a noodle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “What’s the countdown at now? Three days?”
I accepted his avoidance with a sigh and rocked back and forth on my wheels. “Four.”
“Reservation’s all set?”
I nodded.
“Good.” Tossing his fork in the sink with a resounding clang, the carton found a new home in the garbage. Then, under his breath, he muttered, “At least one of us deserves to have something go our way for once.” His bedroom door slammed behind him.
Chapter 22: Juliet
The car slammed into another pothole and my bones shook with the impact. The streets were snarled with traffic, even more so than usual, but that wasn’t really any surprise with it being New Year’s Eve. Everywhere I looked, people hustled down the sidewalks, noisemakers poking out of their mouths, glittery hats set jauntily on top of their heads.
With my phone pressed to my ear, it rang again and I waited impatiently to hear Felix’s voice on the other end of the line. Stupid, last-minute—
“Hey, Jules.” His voice was all buttery sunshine. “Your flight get in okay?”
“Yeah, we touched down half an hour ago.”
“Nice. You on your way to the hotel?”
I sawed my lower lip with my teeth. “I’m . . . going to be a little bit late.” I darted a worried look across the car at Ally, and she gave me an encouraging smile.
“Is it”—he lowered his voice—“is it your stalker again?”
“No, nothing like that. I checked with Detective Brackett before we took off and he said there haven’t been any disturbances at my place, nothing new in the mail, just a whole lot of nothing. Which is good. Maybe us finding all those cameras and everything really spooked him.” Outwardly I was keeping up a positive face, but this lull wasn’t enough to trap me into a false sense of security. Until that son of a bitch was back behind bars I wasn’t letting my guard down.
I sighed. “I have to swing by my castmate’s party. I literally just found out about it when I powered on my phone at the airport.”
“What type of douchewad invites someone to a New Year’s Eve party this late?”
“The type of douchewad who is not a fan of mine and is hoping he can make me look bad by not showing up at a party the entire cast is going
to.”
“I don’t even know him and I hate him already.”
“Join the club.”
The car jerked to a stop as we pulled up to the curb outside Wally’s brownstone. A handful of paparazzi dotted the sidewalk, the sound of music sneaking into the car. So, it was going to be one of those parties.
“I’m only planning on making a quick appearance then getting the hell out of here. I’m thinking an hour, tops. I’m so sorry, I—”
“Jules.” He chuckled. “It’s business. I get it.”
My entire body relaxed. “I’ll see you soon.”
“The sooner the better.”
The line went dead, and I stuffed my phone back in my clutch.
“You ready?” Ally asked, her hand poised to knock on the window.
I smoothed a hand over my sequined, champagne-colored skirt. “Let’s get this over with.”
The cameras started flashing before I’d even gotten out of the car. Straightening, a small strip of skin poked out from between my high-waisted skirt and the white crop top I’d paired it with. “Juliet, over here! One quick picture! Juliet!” The voices got to me even with Vince and Chuck sandwiching me between them.
Pausing on the stairs, I gave the photographers my practiced smile, turning slightly every few seconds so that they all hopefully got a quick shot of me. With a quick wave, I made my way up the stairs, bodyguards and Ally in tow.
Sound hit me in the face as soon as the door opened, followed quickly by the heavy tang of liquor and sweat. Thin tendrils of air-conditioned air swept over my skin, but they seemed powerless in the stifling room. There were bodies everywhere—people chatting on the stairs, dancing in the living room, crowded around the bar. When Wally said he invited the cast, he must have meant every extra, PA, and a hundred other people on top of it.
Ally wrapped an arm around my waist, pressing her lips directly to my ear to be heard. “I’m going to mingle for a little bit, all right? You okay with the guys?”
I nodded and dipped my head down to hers to respond. “Come get me in an hour so we can get out of here?”
She tilted her phone toward me so I could see her setting an alarm. “I’ll come find you.”
“Thanks.”
As she drifted away through the crowd, Vince took her place. “We’ll stick close by tonight.”
Before I could even answer him, I was swallowed up by a swarm of people, my eyes practically watering from the heavy combinations of perfume and cologne assaulting my nose. I smiled for an endless number of selfies, getting tugged around the room by a strong current of cast members who wanted to catch up with me.
Twenty minutes into it, I found myself side-by-side with Wally, that stupid chin dimple of his winking out at me from underneath his egregiously large smile. “Julie! So glad you could make it.” He hugged me to him, so he missed my flare of annoyance at the nickname he’d saddled me with. He pulled back, his sweaty hands on my shoulders. “I didn’t think I’d be seeing you tonight.”
I grinned sweetly at him. “I bet you didn’t, Wally.”
The corners of his lips turned down, his mouth opening then snapping shut when someone shouted, “Juliet! Walt! Picture time!”
His arm landed around my shoulders, pulling me closer. We posed for a quick picture with just the two of us before a handful of other cast members clustered around us. They jostled us even closer together as they squeezed in, trying to fit everyone in one tiny frame. Something jabbed me hard in the back and I tried to glare at whoever it was over my shoulder, but Wally’s arm was still tight around my neck.
What felt like a million pictures later, I went to slip away, but Wally tightened his hold on me. “What did you mean before? Did you think I didn’t want you to come?”
I poked him in the chest. “That’s usually what it means when someone invites you so late.”
“Late? Julie, if six weeks in advance isn’t enough time, I don’t know what to tell you.” He gave me a quick, friendly tug on a strand of my hair. “If you’re still around at midnight and flying solo, I’ve got you covered.” He winked at me, turning to intercept our director as he lumbered over.
I shook my head. Six weeks? There had to have been some miscommunication one way or the other. Crossed wires.
I massaged my forehead. A slight headache throbbed in my temples, from the stifling heat no doubt. Running my tongue out over my dry lips, I searched around me for Vince and Chuck. They were planted a few scant feet away along the edges of the room—close enough to reach my side in a few mere seconds, far enough not to photobomb every picture I was in. I pointed to the small bar across the room, and they responded with a discrete nod, already moving in my direction.
The first sip of my martini went down smooth as glass, relieving my parched throat. I downed the rest of the glass in another long sip, and then went for the two olives. My fingertips fumbled around the skinny toothpick, but I finally got a grip on it. Sinking my teeth into them, I pulled them into my mouth, savoring the salty flavor.
They hit my stomach like little lead balls, making my stomach heave. The room twirled as I pressed my fingers to my mouth. Nausea ate away at me, but I guess alcohol on an empty stomach wasn’t the smartest move. I sighed, then pinched my lips together as another wave of queasiness rolled through me.
Bathroom, I needed to get to a bathroom.
I stumbled through the crowd, elbows jabbing me in the stomach, the back. The floor rose and sunk beneath me like angry, unpredictable waves. I barely made it to the bathroom on two feet, my headache ravaging me so that every blink felt like an electric shock. I managed to shove the door closed behind me with a quick kick seconds before my knees slammed into the tile and my martini paid me a repeat visit, splashing into the toilet.
My bones felt like they were shivering as I wrapped my fingers around the edge of the pedestal sink and pulled myself to my feet. I drew a trembling hand across my mouth, but couldn’t even feel it. My gaze met my reflection and I had the most bizarre out-of-body experience. It felt like I was floating, looking down at myself as I looked in the mirror.
My heart went haywire when both Juliets turned to stare at me—the reflection no longer matching the person standing in front of it. I tried to scream, but I was nothing, just a wraith in the air. I squeezed my eyes shut and when I opened them again I was back in my body, the mirror in front of me.
Something’s wrong.
I knew it, felt it in every cell of my body. I jerked as movement called to me from the mirror. The closet door behind me creaked open and a shadowy figure stepped out. I clapped my hands over my eyes, trying to vanquish the hallucination. This isn’t real, this isn’t real, this isn’t—
All the air flew out of my lungs, and while I tried to gasp it back, fingers fisted in my hair and yanked my head back. My gaze flew to the mirror but everything swam in front of me. There was a person there, maybe two or three, their body nothing but a blur of color.
A breath, hot against my neck, caressed my skin. It was followed up with something sharper, colder. There was a prick, a brief stinging sensation, a wetness trickling down my throat. So familiar, so similar. My memories rioted in my head, the past colliding with the present. I tried to struggle, to get away, but none of my limbs were cooperating.
Then I was flying or falling. My elbows crashed into the tile floor, my head thumping back against it. A shadow knelt over me, blinking in and out as my vision went spotty. My wrists burned, a scream dying in my throat. Right before the seconds started bleeding together, a voice whispered in my ear, “This is only the beginning.”
Chapter 23: Felix
The entire ride to the hospital, my heart lived in my throat. All I’d gotten was a frantic phone call from Ally with barely any details—just crying and a whole shit-ton of incomprehensible words. The news outlets, however, were blaringly clear—“A-list Actress Juliet St. Clair Attempts Suicide at New Year’s Eve Party.” Gavin tried to stop me from looking, but I couldn’t help myself. I d
rank in every photograph. From the stunned faces of the partygoers harshly lit by the camera’s flash, to the pale form of Juliet laid on a stretcher, the sheet soaked in blood.
“Can’t this thing go any fucking faster?” I slammed my hand against the plastic divider that separated me from the driver.
Narrowed eyes met mine in the rearview mirror before turning back to the road.
“We’re almost there,” Gavin murmured. It’d been a stroke of good fortune he’d been at the hotel at all, keeping me company in the suite I’d reserved right in Times Square so Juliet and I could watch the ball drop together. He’d been minutes from leaving for his own party, but this time luck was on my side.
The second the cab pulled into the parking lot, Gavin threw cash at the cabbie while I waited for him to grab my wheelchair out of the trunk. What felt like days later, I had my wheels underneath me and was practically flying for the hospital entrance.
“Felix, man. Wait!” Gavin skidded in front of me with a nervous glance over his shoulder. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Am I sure I want to . . .” I lost the end of my sentence as I glanced in front of me. A hoard of paparazzi and reporters scurried in front of the doors, video cameras locked and loaded, flashes peppering the night in brilliant white streaks.
Gavin fisted his hands in his hair. “There’s gotta be another way in. I’m sure we can—”
“No.” I threw up a hand. “This is the only way in we need.”
I made it to the outer edge of the media before Gavin caught up with me, his wide-open, gaping mouth transformed into one helluva grin.
The first two feet were cake. Everyone quickly stepped aside for the guy in the wheelchair with a quick, “Sorry about that.” Another foot and they recognized Gavin. One more and their gazes lit on me, their eyes lighting up like they’d just discovered they were holding onto the winning lottery ticket.
Microphones appeared in front of my face, the cameras’ lights blinding. The questions hit me like an avalanche.
“Felix! What happened? Will you recover?”
