by Elle Casey
“Never mind.” He picks up his fork and pokes at the food on his plate. “What is this stuff, anyway?”
“Tuna.” I clear my throat because my voice is coming out strange. “Lentils. Cucumber salad. Try it. I promise, you’ll like it.”
“I’m not a fan of any of the things you just said.” Tarin pokes his food some more. “Fucking rabbit food.”
I take a bite of the crunchy vegetables. “Rabbits don’t eat tuna, dumbass. Come on, have I steered you wrong yet?”
He looks up at me, mild shock on his face. “Did you just call me a dumbass?” He laughs a little. “You’re kidding right? Steer me wrong? Call me crazy, but even though I just met you, in the last few hours you’ve turned my entire life upside down, fired a bunch of my people, punched the shit out of me in a boxing ring, racked my balls, and turned my kitchen into a … what did Charlie call it … a La Jolla foo-foo restaurant.”
“Froo-froo, not foo-foo. But have I steered you wrong, is the question.” My eyes are sparkling with happiness. Everything he just said makes me so psyched about my progress. I really have accomplished a lot in just short time.
“To be honest, I’m not sure yet.”
“Try the tuna. Decide after you eat.”
Tarin slides the smallest morsel of food onto the fork that a human tongue is capable of tasting and puts it in his mouth. He hesitates a few seconds as the flavors register in his brain, and then the fork goes down to scoop up a healthier portion. He’s nodding his head as he puts that one into his mouth too. There’s nothing like fresh tuna the way Josh prepares it. I’ve never been able to go back to the canned stuff since.
“Not bad,” he finally admits.
“Try the lentils.”
He pokes his fork at the brownish green beads. “Those things?”
“Yeah.” I eat a big bite of mine. Josh is a master at taking a thing I’d destroy in the kitchen and making it magical.
“Rabbit turds,” he says quietly. But he bravely tries more of the food and soon enough is shoveling it in without stopping.
We eat in silence for a little while and I try not to stare at his arms as they move around, picking up utensils, taking his glass and moving it to his mouth, the way his throat moves as he swallows.
I jump slightly, startled when he suddenly turns to me and speaks. I’m afraid he’s caught me checking him out.
“So, how do you know Charlie so well?” he asks between mouthfuls.
I’m relieved to know the question wasn’t ‘So how long have you been a stalker?’
“He and my dad were good friends. Since they were kids.” This is safer ground than where my mind was headed. It’s not exactly my favorite topic of conversation, but it’s definitely safer.
“You’re from around there?”
I nod as I wipe my mouth with my napkin. “Yep. Born and raised.”
“You’re just Scarlett from the block.” Tarin starts doing a riff on the Jennifer Lopez song Jenny From the Block. I can’t help but smile at how he takes a song so not in his genre and turns it around into something that sounds like a cross between rap and rock. He puts my name in for Jenny. For a few lines it makes me smile, but then when he grabs a knife and uses it as his microphone, staring at me while he raps, it reminds me too much of Austin. The smile drops off my face as a cool breeze blows through my world and cuts off the joy.
Tarin’s song ends prematurely and he puts the knife on the table. “That bad, huh?”
I shake my head, reaching out to touch him but then pulling back before I make contact with his skin. “No, it’s not that. I like the song.”
I put my napkin on the table and stand, the awkward moment too much for me to deal with. “Ready for your next workout?”
He takes me by the hand and pulls me a little, keeping me from leaving the table. Where his fingers are touching mine I feel a tingling. I almost can’t breathe.
“Wait. Don’t go,” he says. “Sit. I just need to relax for a few more minutes. You kicked my ass in the ring.” His fingers slide away and I’m suddenly without his touch. I miss it already.
I hesitate, hating myself for letting my out-of-control personal feelings interfere in my work. And I don’t want to have this conversation, especially when I see so many unspoken questions behind his eyes. Maybe dangerous ones. This is not going as planned.
“Please?” he begs.
And just like that, I cave.
He looks so sincere and sweet for a change, finally not angry or depressed. I can’t resist. Despite my misgivings about getting too close and letting him in, I take my seat again.
When I sit back down, he smiles. It’s slight and it’s only half there, but it’s charming anyway. I can see why girls would totally fall for him, even if he wasn’t a rock and roll star. Other girls, though. Not me. I don’t fall for rock stars. The shell I’ve built around my heart can be bruised, but it cannot be broken.
“Fine. So, what’s up with Jelly?” I ask. I need to be in control of the conversation to keep it from going places I can’t manage; might as well get the conversation rolling on the worst, least sexy subject I can think of.
He leans back in his chair and closes his eyes, letting out a long sigh. “I don’t know,” he finally says. His head is resting on the back of the seat.
“Are you going to have her move in here with you?”
He tilts his head towards me and opens one eye. “Are you kidding? We’d kill each other in less than a week.” He closes his eyes again and turns his head to face the sun.
I battle the smile to keep it hidden. I’m sickly gleeful about them not getting along which obviously means I’m a horrible person. “Why do you say that?” I ask, forcing my voice to remain even.
He shakes his head. “She’s fun, don’t get me wrong. But she’s … high maintenance and she likes to party too much. I like to party too much. When we’re together, we party way too much. It’s stupid.” He rubs his closed eyes with his fingers, digging in deep.
“And she’s pregnant. With your child.”
He sits up slowly as his fingers fall away and his now bloodshot eyes open. “Do you believe her? That she’s pregnant, I mean.”
“Do you?”
He looks down into his lap as he fiddles with his fingers. “No. I don’t think I do. That makes me an asshole, right?”
“Not necessarily. Why don’t you believe her?”
“Because … would she keep partying if she knew she was pregnant? I mean, what kind of woman does that? Besides, my motto is no glove, no love. But maybe when I was really wasted …” He looks at me, his expression telling me he’s sick over it.
I say nothing. I sense he has his own answers to his question about Jelly, and I don’t like mine. They’re not nice at all, and I’m not necessarily a very good judge, especially since I can’t stop staring that this man’s face, arms, and hands. I refuse to let my gaze stray lower, even though it keeps trying to go there.
He gestures angrily. “She’s either lying and partying, which makes her a fucking bag and a half for doing that to me, or she’s telling the truth and filling my baby full of drugs and alcohol, which makes her a fucking two-bagger and not worthy of being a mother. I’m fucked no matter what.”
It wouldn’t be right for me to just agree with him. I feel uncomfortable, like a part of me is trying to get her out of the way for some reason and that it’s more than just me looking out for his best interests. The little devil inside my head wants me to yell, ‘Yes! She’s a total ho-bag! Dump her ass!’, but that’s not why I’m here. I can’t let my personal feelings get in the way of him living his life the way it was meant to be lived.
So I take the high road. I say the thing that the professional Scarlett Barnes would say. The Scarlett Barnes who feels a pull towards Tarin like she did towards another guy once, a long time ago, will now and forever remain totally silent. I will not let the weak Scarlett’s voice be heard.
“Maybe Jelly just loves you so much, the idea of
me telling her she had to go was too much to deal with. So maybe the lie was kind of justified in her mind.”
He frowns at me and leans forward a little. “Are you serious?”
It’s kind of freaky how intensely he’s studying my face.
“Do you really mean that?” he presses.
I can’t hold his gaze. I look down at my feet, pretending to care a lot about my shoelaces. “Yeah, sure, why wouldn’t I?” My heart squeezes painfully in my chest. I never lie to clients like this, ever. I feel like a fraud and an asshole and a girl who shouldn’t be here.
He says nothing. The silence goes on for so long I have to look up to see what’s happening.
He’s still staring at me. His green eyes are so bright, I’m struck by how they remind me of emeralds. Of Ireland. Of places where magic happens in worlds we can’t see.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
He looks sad. “I don’t know why. I guess I’m just waiting to hear your answer.” He shrugs and there’s a bitterness to his expression.
“I already answered you,” I say, my heart feeling like it’s going to explode with withheld emotion. What emotion that is, I can’t say.
He taps my forearm with the side of his index finger a few times before letting it slide away. It leaves a trail of heat behind. “You’re just blowing me off. I want your real answer.”
I look away, the rose bushes off in the distance my only escape from his intense gaze. Time to bail. “I forgot the question. You ready to go yet?” I put my hands on the arms of the chair and use them to leverage myself up.
I grab my plate and glass and am partway across the lawn to the back door of the house when his next words hit me.
“Chicken shit.”
Disappointment laces his tone. It’s like an arrow piercing my heart. Real pain slices through me. I feel like I let him down, but I’m not even sure how.
I say nothing as I walk into the house. My face is burning and I want to run. Chicken shit is right. What in the hell am I doing?
Chapter Fifteen
MY PHONE RINGS AS TARIN is walking into the kitchen. I press the green button to connect the call and turn my back to him, wandering into the hallway for some privacy.
“Scarlett Barnes,” I say.
“Yo, Scar, what up? It’s me, Jack.”
“Jack who?” I smile, laughter bubbling up inside me. I keep it down though, at least for the few seconds it takes for my joke to play out.
“Are you shitting me, girl? Jack Sprat who ate no fat, that’s who. Come on, don’t fuck with me. I need you.”
I sigh, the smile in my voice letting him know he’s still one of my best friends. Now that we don’t work together anymore, anyway. Before that, when we first started working together, we weren’t friends. Not at all. Bitter enemies might be a better word for what we were when his label hired me to get his ass out of a very dark place.
“Fine. What’s up? You need me to go shopping with you and help you pick out an outfit for the premier? Because I see you in baby blue. Call me nuts, but I think you could pull it off. Ruffles… Lots of ruffles around the cuffs and down the front. Think: old school prom tux.”
“Seriously, Scar, you need to stick with what you know, and fashion is not what you know. The reason I’m calling is I got this gig tonight and I want you there. It’s kind of a last minute thing, but it’s big.”
“No, I can’t. I’m up to my ass in work right now.”
“Ahhh,” he says, his voice going softer, “another lost soul needs finding, is that it?”
“You could say that.” I look over my shoulder. I don’t see Tarin, but I sense he’s near. There’s no noise coming from the kitchen anymore.
“Bring him along.”
“How do you know it’s a him?”
“Because in all the time I’ve known you, you’ve never taken a chick for a client. Just the lost boys get your attention.”
I smile sadly. “Yeah. The lost boys.” I want to cry for some reason.
“Bring him.”
“I can’t. I really can’t. I don’t want him to see you.” I can only imagine what that would do to Tarin at this point in his rescue. Jack can be overwhelming sometimes, and he’s one of my biggest fans.
“You’re thinking he’s not ready, is that it?”
“Something like that, yeah.”
“Listen … nobody’s ever ready for you Scarlett, you know that. You make them ready. You drag them kickin’ and screamin’ and you make them ready. So bring him along. I promise to behave. Mostly.”
I sigh. “Where and when? No promises, but maybe I can stop by. I’ve missed seeing you.”
“Yeah, me too. Tonight, nine o’clock the show starts. I should be on around ten. I’ll text you the address.”
“That’s late. You know I go to bed early on work nights.”
“And I also know you break the rules for special occasions, if you recall.”
I smile with the memory. “Yes. When it’s really important, I will do that. But only on special occasions.”
“Trust me. This is one of those. I hope I see you there. Two tickets will be at the door for you. I want you to come see me backstage.”
“If I come, I’ll stop by and say hello.”
“Don’t forget to bring your lost boy. I like Scott and all, but I’d like to meet this new man of yours.”
His choice of words makes me go warm inside and then just as quickly freaks me out and causes me to get the cold sweats. “He’s not my man.”
“Okay, if you say so. It’s all just words, though, you know? That’s not what matters. It’s the doing and the feeling that means something to people like us.”
He hangs up before I can argue the point any further or ask him what in the hell he means by his mysterious comments. He has a way of throwing me off whenever we talk, often giving me the feeling he has so much more to say but doesn’t. It’s one of those issues we never fully worked out before my time with him was over and I moved on to my next lost boy.
“Who was that?” asks Tarin, coming out of the kitchen. I can’t tell from his expression if he heard any of the conversation or not.
“Just a friend. Someone I used to work with.”
“Someone like me?” he asks.
I answer honestly. “Yes and no. Do you want to spend some time in your studio before we leave?”
“Where are we going?”
“A couple places. First to a friend’s and then a meeting with your attorneys.”
His nostrils flare and a storm passes over his face. His mood changes abruptly, from day to night. “When do we leave?”
I look at my watch. “Half hour.”
“I’ll be in the studio. Knock loudly when you want me to come out.”
I nod, following his progress down the hall. He’s slouched over and tense. He bangs the door to the studio closed behind him.
I wait, and a few minutes later, the weak sounds of a guitar being played come out of the room and leak into the hallway. The chords are dark. Angry. Frustrated.
I leave before I can hear too much more. Our morning went well, but I know that there’s so much work for me to do before I’ll be able to sleep well at night again. The words of an old poem come to me as I take the stairs slowly to my temporary bedroom and office. I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep.
Chapter Sixteen
I TAP ON THE STUDIO door when it’s time to go. Ricky’s in the car waiting and Scott’s goofing around with video games. He worked his butt off all morning organizing things for us, and I know he’ll be up late tonight at Jack’s show, so I don’t give him any crap about it. He’ll stop in time to finish his work; he always does.
I hear a crash on the other side of the door, coming from the studio. My blood goes cold and my blood pressure spikes up.
“Tarin?” I ask.
Another crash comes, followed in close succession by more banging and cra
shing.
I try the handle, but the door is locked. “Tarin!” I say louder, trying to be heard over the noises coming from inside.
Zach appears behind me. “Need help?”
I turn to him, my pulse hammering with nervousness. I hate this part of my job. “I think he’s having a meltdown.”
Zach nods. “Sounds like it. You want to ride it out or get in?”
“What do you suggest?”
“We usually just let him ride it out.”
“Then let me in.” Whatever indulgences they’ve given him before are what contributed to him being what he is now: a spoiled brat. Time to change the program.
Zach raises an eyebrow at me, but reaches up above the door and brings a key down. “Better step back and let me handle this part.” He slides the key into the slot as I step to the side a little.
Banging on the door, he shouts, “Tarin, I’m coming in.”
“Fuck you, Zach! Don’t you dare touch that fucking door!” Something crashes into the door, making it shake in Zach’s grip.
Zach looks at me. “You sure you want to do this?”
“Yes. But be careful, I don’t want you to get hurt.” I take a deep breath and hold it.
Zach pushes open the door and then shuts it really quick before going in. Something smashes into it and drops the floor. He opens it again without hesitation and rushes in, shoving whatever’s in the way to the side.
I’m right behind him, so I get a great view of what happens next. Tarin has part of a drum set held high above his head, his face bright red and sweating. Before he can launch it across the room, Zach gets him in a full-body lockdown, wrapping his arms around Tarin’s waist and squeezing hard. The drum part falls out of his hands, bonks Zach in the head and then rolls to the ground.
“Get the fuck off me!” Tarin’s grunting, trying to get away.
