by Cat Mason
Scooting closer, Tage slides an arm around me, his other hand tipping my face up until our eyes meet. “There isn’t one thing in this entire fucked situation that is your fault, Bristol. There are times in our lives, while chasing, or even living our dreams, when something or someone comes along and makes you question everything you’re working for. It’ll make you reevaluate your goals, re-strategize your plans even. But, never allow the negative actions of others to change what’s in here,” he says, his hand drifting down to flatten over my chest. “You lose your heart, your drive to make shit happen, he wins. The blame for that would fall on you.”
“I needed to hear that,” I breathe, my shoulders feeling a little lighter. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he replies, giving me a smile. “Your grandmother was probably the smartest woman I’ve ever known. She gave me that little piece of advice when I had to make some hard choices of my own.”
Tears burn my eyes at the mention of my grandmother. However, I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face knowing that, even though she isn’t here to hand deliver her words of wisdom, they got to me anyway.
Chapter Twelve
Fuckknobs and Pavement Facials
Tage
I could tell the moment I stepped out the backdoor and saw her that something was wrong. The closer I got, the more concerned I became. If her slumped shoulders and pained face weren’t enough, the half empty bottle of Patrón dangling from her fingers before noon gave her away immediately.
Tending the bar most nights, you learn how to read people. You also become a great listener. Because, when you mix alcohol with a whirling mind, most people will tell you every excruciating detail of their entire life without batting an eye. I think that is possibly a big reason Unc loves working with me so much. The nosy bastard is feeding off the details of people’s troubles like a goddamned feeding tube.
Finding out that Bristol wasn’t sitting here having second thoughts about last night was a relief. However, it didn’t last long. My relief quickly turned to anger and frustration at what she has been dealing with. The look of helplessness on her face while she talked was more than I could stand. All I wanted was to make it go away. I needed her smile back, and I knew without a fucking doubt that I wasn’t leaving this spot until I had it.
And neither was she.
I know better than most what it feels like for your world to seem like it is spiraling out of control. I all but watched as my career was sabotaged by those closest to me, my life thrown into the toilet and flushed down the tubes until it was too late to stop it. Of course, none of the events were my fault, or occurred at my hand, but that didn’t make them any less my problem to face.
Once Bristol was feeling a little more at ease about everything, Moo and I walked her back up to the house. With a smile on her face, she kisses me and trades her bottle of tequila for a stack of pancakes. Giving Moo a pat on the head, she heads into the other room to get some work done, leaving Evan and I alone.
“So,” Evan says, getting my attention.
“So?” I reply, looking at him curiously.
“You went home?” he asks, studying me intensely.
“Yes,” I nod, staring back at him.
“Came back?” Tilting his head to the side, his brows knit together.
I nod again.
“She trusted you with that shit,” he says, not asking this time. “I was ready for her to climb a clock tower or shave her head. Now she seems okay.”
“Yeah,” I reply, yanking a hand through my hair, wondering where the hell he is going with this ridiculous interrogation. “Are we done playing twenty questions?”
“I don’t know about you, Tage, but I’m not really into games.” His brow arches, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Although, if we were playing twenty questions, fuckknob, I’d still have eighteen left. Consider this little heart to heart my way of makin’ sure you’re not just here for the pussy.”
“Okay,” I nod, my mouth pressing into a hard line. “Look, you’re a big motherfucker. I have no doubt you could smash me into the concrete without breaking a sweat,” I add, clenching my fists at my sides. “But, if you refer to Bristol like that again, I’ll make damn sure I get a few in before your big ass gives me my pavement facial.”
Leaning back against the counter, Evan crosses his arms over his chest. His smile widens, and he appears almost impressed. “Good answer.”
“What the—” I mutter, blinking several times. “You were testing me?”
“Let me break it down for you crayon style,” he says, straightening to his full height. Smirking, he holds up a finger to the side of his head, tapping his temple. “I have a sixth sense for bullshit. I sniff it out like a goddamn bloodhound. I also know when shit is good and has the potential to be really fuckin’ great, ya feel me?” I nod in response, but stay quiet as he continues. “Bristol is important to me. Always has been, always will be. When it comes to her,” he says, gesturing to the other room. “I’ll do twenty-five to life with a dude suckin’ my cock in a shady ass cellblock with a smile on my face before I’d let any-fucking-one hurt her. Ever. So,” he shrugs his shoulders, not giving two shits. “When I stop fuckin’ with you, that’s when you should worry.” Bracing his forearms on the island countertop in front of him, he stares me down. “Because that’s means she’s not that into you.”
“Gotcha,” I answer, looking down at my dog, who does nothing except yawn and drop to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Only louder. “So this is kindergarten and you only pick on me because you like me?” I ask, batting my eyes innocently.
“You know,” Evan says, pushing off the counter. “I’m impressed. You’ve not only taken everything I’ve thrown at you, but you aren’t afraid to chuck shit right back.”
“That’s because it’s not you I wanna leave the impression on,” I shrug. Nudging Moo’s hip with my foot, I say goodbye to Evan, and head back towards my house to get ready for the day.
***
After I feed Moo and chase him out of my bed three different times, I finally leave the house and head downtown. Parking in front of All the Rage, I grab my stuff and climb out of my Jeep. Glancing down the street, I immediately feel uneasy. Four large, black vans are parked along the main drag. A couple guys that I don’t recognize stand in front of the coffee shop, eating donuts and talking.
“You’re late,” Bob announces from behind me. “Have trouble getting outta bed this mornin’?” he asks, laughing so hard it sends him into a coughing fit.
Shaking my head, I turn to face him. “Didn’t you just get here?” I ask, noticing the brown paper bag in his hand.
“That I did, boy,” he chuckles, tucking the bag under his arm as he fumbles with his key ring. “I see the Snappers finally made it into town.” Shaking his head, he yanks open the door. “Bunch of savages.”
My eyes snap back to the coffee shop just in time to see another man step out onto the street, scribbling in a small notepad. “Fuck,” I curse under my breath.
“They’ll be headin’ out to Jo’s place, setting up like a bunch of crows on a powerline before supper time,” Bob continues.
Moving inside, he begins flipping on all the lights, making his way toward the office. Closing the door behind me, I toss my shit down onto one of the benches and retrieve my phone from my pocket. Thumbing through my contacts, I hit send and impatiently wait as the phone rings.
“I was just thinking about you,” she purrs into the phone.
“Don’t come to the bar,” I blurt immediately. “Honestly, it’s probably best if you don’t even leave the house.”
“Don’t come to the bar?” she asks, sounding confused. “What the hell is going on, Tage?”
“Give the phone to Evan. Okay?”
“No,” she grounds out, her confusion turning into anger. “I will not give the phone to Evan. Not until you tell me what the ever-lovin’ fuck is going on. Why the hell do you want to talk to—”
“Christ, you’re an asshole,” I reply, scrubbing a hand over my face.
“How are you only now figuring that out?” he asks, making me roll my eyes. “Why are ya callin’ me, Denim Dan? Miss me already?”
“I’m in town,” I inform him. “Main street is full of news vans and reporters. You’re about to have a whole lot of eyes and zoomed in lenses focused right on ya.”
“I’ll admit, I was starting to wonder how long it would take,” he grumbles. “Thanks for the heads up, man.”
My phone beeps, letting me know Evan hung up on me. No handing the phone back to Bristol, no goodbye. Although, after what I just told him, I shouldn’t be too surprised that his focus is elsewhere. Evan has a lot of work ahead of him if he plans to get any sort of secured perimeter in place, with no real time to do it.
The property isn’t private by any means. There’s a perfect view from the street along with access from the surrounding beach and lake. The only safe place for her is most likely going to be inside.
Knowing Bristol, that isn’t going to go over very well at all with her.
Chapter Thirteen
#TRISTOL
Bristol
Evan has been on the phone all day, organizing and planning the opening of Club Lockdown. His version of prison, located on scenic Lake Huron, will have only one inmate. Me.
My riot is already in the planning stages.
Ever since the giant asswanker hung up with Tage, he has been locking the whole fucking place down like Fort Knox. The house that holds all of my favorite childhood memories, is quickly becoming dark and stuffy. I feel so fucking closed in already, and it’s only just begun. He has drawn all the curtains and closed all the doors, locking them up tight. Hell, he even turned down the television. What in the shit? Who cares what we are watching?
Breaking news! Evan Pahl, personal security to Bristol Lachlan, has a secret Netflix obsession with Gossip Girl. I have a feeling that no one gives a good goddamn.
“For fuck’s sake,” I shout, unable to take it anymore. Storming across the room, I raise the blinds and fling open the large windows. Evan stares me down, grinding his teeth, as he talks to someone on the phone about gating and fencing installation. “I refuse to live like some shut in, scared of the world, and a few flash bulbs. While you have a nervous breakdown over having your picture taken, I’m going to sit here, watch the sunset, and finish this song. Feel free to join me once you’ve calmed your tits.”
“Can you hold on just a moment?” he asks before covering the mouthpiece of the phone with his fingers. His eyes widen to the size of truck tires and his jaw drops. “Calm my tits?”
“Yes,” I reply, throwing up my hands. “Soothe your boobs. Destress your breasts. Refrain your honkers from going bonkers! Seriously, E, you’re acting like we don’t deal with this shit all the time. It’s no big deal. You said yourself that they’d eventually find us. They did.”
“Isn’t it my job to keep you safe?” he asks, narrowing his brows. “We’ve known each other a long fuckin’ time, B. I have never thought of this as just some payin’ gig, you know that. I love the shit outta you. I also usually don’t push an issue unless I feel strongly about it. If I have to, I will hogtie you and throw you in a closet. Woman, when I go there, and it has nothing to do with my sexual kink in any way, that means you should just lay the fuck off and trust me to do what I gotta do. Ya feel me?”
“I think I just threw up in my mouth a little,” I say, gagging at the thought of Evan ever having hogtied anyone. Ever.
“If you’re done being a pain in my ass, can I get back to my phone call?” he asks, rolling his eyes.
“Have at it, skippy,” I reply, waving him off. “However, it’s highly unlikely that I’ll ever be done being a pain in your ass. I take my job seriously too.”
Snatching up my phone from the table beside me, I flop down onto the lounger and stretch out. Clicking on the web browser, I check out some of the top celebrity dirt sites, along with some of the more reputable ones, to see what has been posted so far. The bulk of what I find are reports on what happened in St. Louis, so I take it one step further. I do the one thing you should never do, unless you’re drunk off your ass, or dead set on scarring yourself for life.
I enter my name in the Google search engine.
The screen fills with links to pages and pages worth of articles. Clicking on the images tab, I scroll through tons of photos. Some are of all of us on stage performing, us meeting with fans, and even a few candid shots of me while out and about while on tour or in California.
Just as I am about to give it up, and grab my notebook, I see something I hadn’t expected. Clicking the image, I wait as the story loads along with the full image of Tage and I, holding hands as we walk down Main Street. My heart leaps into my throat as I scroll through the gallery and spot more photos of us together. Scanning the article, my stomach churns anxiously.
Bristol Lachlan has been spotted for the first time since her brush with a mentally unstable fan inside her St. Louis, Missouri hotel suite. Reported sightings are coming from Grindstone Harbor, a small town in Michigan on Lake Huron.
Photos appear to show her spending time with none other than former hockey all-star, Tage Crosby. Crosby, who was forced into early retirement due to injuries sustained during a play-off game, now owns The Penalty Box, a popular sport’s bar in the area.
The very candid shots come as a surprise because, while Lachlan has been known to go above and beyond for her fans and openly include them in the entire musical process, she has been known to keep a tight lock on the intimate details of her personal life. Though it has been rumored for some time that Lachlan was involved with her long time security detail, Evan Pahl, it looks like Lachlan and Crosby are getting awful cozy.
It remains to be seen if love is in the air in Northern Michigan, but Tristol could easily be the hottest celebrity couple of the summer.
At the bottom of the article is a photo of Tage kissing me goodbye outside the bar last night, and another of us on the beach this morning. Views are over a million and the story isn’t six hours old. There are pages and pages of comments, none of which I can bring myself to read. I can’t take my eyes off the images.
The information isn’t completely correct. My private life wasn’t exactly kept private, there was just nothing to tell. I spend a lot of time living out of a suitcase. If you add up the time I have owned my condo, against how many nights I have actually slept there, it would shock most people. Adding someone to that mix, especially someone who already has put down roots somewhere else, isn’t fair. So, I never went looking for something that went beyond one night.
The idea that people secretly thought Evan and I have been together this whole time is laughable. Sure, on paper, Evan and I are probably a perfect match. We already spend shit tons of time together and get along for the most part, but it would never work. In my mind, Greer, Tanner, and Evan are more like my brothers. I know they are good looking guys; I am just not attracted to them.
Saving the images to my phone’s camera roll, my stomach flutters uncontrollably. I have had thousands of pictures taken of me in my life, probably millions, but none have affected me this way. I don’t like that these candid moments between Tage and I were caught on film for everyone to see. I love my fans, but shouldn’t I have some say in what aspects of my life are shared and what is kept solely for me?
I fire off a text to Tage, letting him know our faces are plastered all over the web. Tossing my phone to the table, I scoop up my notebook, flip to a new page and let the new idea begin to flow onto the page.
Tage
We are mouth fucking all over the .com
The moment I read the message from Bristol, I knew she was freaking out. The already heavy plate that she is
barely balancing is being stacked higher and higher. The media has dug their claws into her and are bound and determined to suck her dry to fill their bank accounts.
Same fucking story, different damn day.
With no game on tonight, the bar is pretty dead after the dinner rush. Or it could be the amount hounding reporters outside that is driving away business. Thankfully, I took precautions that keeps the nosy bastards out in the parking lot for the most part. Since no one is eating, Unc has plenty of time on his hands and is now busy running his mouth to Bob and Jimmy at the end of the bar.
I, on the other hand, have used my spare time to see what Bristol is talking about. She wasn’t kidding. Photos of us are popping up everywhere. Stories full of speculation are running rampant. The fans are eating this little personal piece of info up like some kind of presidential scandal.
“Tristol is an official hashtag,” Jodi says as she arranges drinks on her tray. “You are half of a trending topic. There’s even a ‘Shipping Tristol’ fan page on Facebook. This is so exciting!”
“Shipping? The fuck does that even mean?” I ask, confused as hell. “Are they sending us somewhere? Is the page sponsored by UPS?”
Jodi laughs, shaking her head. “No, silly. It means they support a relationship between you two. That they’re rooting for you.”
“Ah,” I nod. Typing in the name of the page, I shake my head as I read through the top posts. “Good to know that people have enough time on their hands to be concerned with how I spend mine. The world has gone to hell in a hand basket,” holding up my phone so that she can see, I roll my eyes. “And Satan takes duck-faced selfies.”
“That’s life in the spotlight, Tage,” Jodi replies, giving me a smile. “Everything she does is magnified in the public eye for everyone to see. The motel on the freeway is full people wearing press passes. I can’t remember it ever having so much business. Martha Foster said she sold out of pastries in under an hour this morning.”
