“Well, if you didn’t do this as a kid, this story probably won’t make much sense to you — but my sister and I used to build blanket forts all the time. Whenever things got scary or intense, we’d always hide in the most obscure blanket fort we could build. We’d carry all our books and puzzles into the fort with as many flashlights as we could scrounge up in the house, and then we’d hide there as long as we could without being discovered. Sometimes it would take all the grown-ups in my house an ungodly amount of time to find us if our hiding place was any good. The entire time Fernanda and I were hiding out, we would hold our breath, sometimes literally — sure we’d be discovered at any second.”
Tasha shifts her position so she’s looking at me and wraps the blanket so it covers both of us again. “Actually, that sounds like so much fun. I always wished I had a sibling growing up. It was always just Ma and me after my dad exited the picture. Loneliness was my constant companion. Brothers and sisters would’ve been awesome. I think it’s cool you played with your little sister. I’ve heard big brothers don’t like to play with their siblings.”
“Don’t give me too much credit. I entertained myself by making it like a big game of cat and mouse — sometimes at Fernanda’s expense. We’d try everything we could to conceal our location from our parents because we didn’t want them to know we were hiding from them. We thought we were so clever — but we had our weaknesses. Fernanda would get so nervous she’d want to cry, so I’d try to keep her calm by reading her favorite books in a very quiet whisper until she fell asleep.”
“What was your weakness?” Tasha asks with a quizzical glance.
I chuckle softly as I admit, “I had a couple. First, I was always hungry. You have no idea how much noise food wrappers make. I would give us away. Even worse, I was always impatient. I always wanted to know what my parents were up to. I’d frequently get us busted when I was peeking around corners or hand over barrier walls because I wanted to see what was going on.”
Tasha snickers at me. “That cracks me up because you give the appearance of being so mellow and laid-back. Are you telling me it’s all one big carefully well-crafted lie?”
“Pretty much. I’m okay as long as I know what’s going on and I’m not left in the dark. I need to feel like I’ve got a say in the decision-making process — even if I’m not the one in charge.”
“Okay, that I’ll buy. You are like the radiator of our organization,” Tasha remarks.
“What?” I ask with a startled cough.
Tasha gathers up her hair and pulls it out of her face as she explains, “You know, on a car everybody talks about the fuel injection system in the engine and even the transmission. People sweat over the color of the car and whether it has leather seats. They brag about how fast it can go, zero to sixty in such-and-such a time. They brag about the model and the brand name and the year. You know what? If your radiator isn’t working right, your car isn’t going anywhere.”
I chuckle as I respond, “True enough.”
“That’s what you are to Silent Beats. You’re the invisible heart of the organization, everything has to go through you for it to work smoothly. Without you, everything would blow apart.”
I’ve never considered my job in those terms, but she does have a point. Even though I think of my job as just moving junk around and cleaning up messes, I do coordinate a lot of stuff on many levels of the organization.
“Blow apart. I guess that could apply to a lot of things in my life right now,” I admit.
I cringe as I watch Tasha recoil from my words.
“Sorry to have completely ruined your life,” she mutters angrily.
“Wait, I didn’t mean it like it sounded. I don’t mean us. I mean everything around us,” I try to clarify. “I never expected to find you — or anyone like you. I’ve been following bands around since I was fifteen, trying to break into the music business and soak up everything I could. A few years ago, a buddy of mine decided to go to college and told me about the gig with Aidan.”
“Thank God for small favors,” Tasha mumbles under her breath. “If he hadn’t, there would be no us.”
I nod. “I know. I risked everything I had to move to Oregon. It could’ve been a complete disaster. I didn’t know anything about Aidan. Frankly, I didn’t even know what kind of music he played. It could’ve been opera for all I knew — but my friend said Aidan was a nice guy, and I gambled my future on his opinion. As you know, it turns out Javier was right.”
“So far, so good; it doesn’t sound too blown apart to me,” Tasha challenges skeptically.
“This is where it gets tricky. I went to Oregon with a plan. My plan was to make a name for myself as a singer-songwriter. I’ve been practicing since I can remember. There isn’t a time music didn’t play a role in my life. After my mom got ahold of my videotapes and ran them by that music producer, she started dreaming my dream with me. It wasn’t anything she could do publicly because my grandparents were so adamantly against the whole plan, but privately, I could tell my mom wanted me to pursue singing. It may have had something to do with my father. I know he liked to sing — at least as a hobby if not more. Maybe in some way, I remind her of him when I sing.”
“Trust me, I totally know what it’s like to have a parent who wants you to pursue a dream,” Tasha remarks dryly. “They tend to lose sight of reality sometimes.”
“The difference is, becoming a successful performer has always been my dream for as long as I can remember. My grandparents are dead set against my choices and I don’t want to face them again until I’ve actually made it. I don’t want them to be right. The fact that I’m still struggling makes me doubt everything in my life. What if they’re right? That’s what I mean by blowing up in my face. There’s the whole stage fright issue, and then —”
“So we tackle this one issue at a time. It’s not as if you going one step back undoes all the progress you made. It’s just a bump in the road,” Tasha says as she leans forward to hug me.
“Maybe this isn’t a bump in the road. What if the stage fright is permanent? Now that I’ve had a taste of what’s out there, it’s going to be hard to settle for what I once had. It may not be enough for me anymore.”
Tasha looks like she’s about ready to shake me. “So don’t settle for less than you deserve. You can’t give up so easily. There are lots of things we can try that we haven’t done yet. You know, there are psychologists who are like sports psychologists for performers; we haven’t even gone down that road yet. It’s too early to think it’s all over. It’s just not. I have faith in you. I won't let you give up. You haven’t invested this many years of your life to reach your dream just to give it up over one bad performance. I know you’re too stubborn to do that.”
I hang my head and rest it against her forehead as I admit, “You’re right. I am.”
“Okay, so, that’s one thing off your list, what else is blowing apart?” Tasha probes as she pulls away and studies my expression.
I heave out a deep breath. “Are you sure you want to hear this? I’m not even sure it’s important enough to dump in your lap. It’s not like you don’t have enough on your plate.”
“Okay, that’s a stupid comment if I’ve ever heard one,” Tasha replies. “How much random stuff have I shoved off on you, including my phone?”
“I feel dumb even bringing this up, but the situation with Hayden is stressing me out. I’m about as helpless as I was when my uncle died. I know she’s probably not going to die, but it’s hard to watch her go through so much pain and not be able to do anything about it. I want to fix everything and I can’t.”
Tasha leans forward and hugs me tightly as she whispers in my ear, “Jude, we’re singing the same song. Some nights I dream about Hayden and her family. Sometimes they’re happy dreams and other times they’re nightmares. I love that you care about them enough to worry. It shows me you have a huge heart.”
“I don’t think I’ll be able to check this one off my list until we k
now she’s going to be okay — and I don’t know what to do about that.”
Tasha gives me a crooked grin. “Sometimes there’s a downside to being both cute and smart. You’ll have to take your methodical brain and put it in the wait-and-see mode for a few years. I should be through with nursing school about the time she gets her clean bill of health and graduates from high school.”
I groan as I respond, “I know you meant that as good news, but it seems like forever from now.”
Tasha shrugs as she says, “I’m sorry, Cowboy, it’s the best I’ve got.” She kisses me tenderly. “Got anything else on your mental checklist?”
“Are you really going to make me talk about this?” I ask.
Tasha nods. “Obviously. Not talking about it is keeping you awake at night.”
I flinch. “I was hoping you couldn’t tell.”
“Judas Vicente Hernández, you are a heck of a musician and your songwriting skills put mine to shame, but you’re a terrible actor. Your fake sleeping wouldn’t fool a toddler.”
I sigh and roll my eyes as I admit, “I swear, you and my sister will be the best of friends. She started telling me the same thing when she was about six.”
“I would love to meet your sister — but, don’t think that will get you out of this conversation. Start talking,” Tasha says with an intense glare.
“Why do I have this feeling you’re going to use all the skills we’ve learned in Tara’s class to kick my butt?” I ask.
“I might — if you don’t stop procrastinating,” Tasha threatens. “I’m already on edge. You’re starting to make me think you’re about to break up with me or something.”
My mouth drops open in shock. “Shut up! Why would you think something like that?”
Tasha pushes on my chest as she responds, “Because you’re being super weird and I’m scared to death. This has been an amazingly crappy day. In case you’ve forgotten, somebody sent us pictures of you with bullet holes and a target on your head.”
“No, I haven’t forgotten. I haven’t forgotten the picture, and I will never forget the picture of you being blown up,” I snap. I drag my hand through my hair and clench my jaw in frustration.
“You know that really wasn’t me, right?” Tasha asks gently.
“No, it wasn’t you this time, but what if those threats are real? What if the letter sitting over there on the dresser is from the same person? You know what that means? The person who threatened to blow you up was close enough to take pictures. That kind of crap keeps me awake.”
“I’m sorry,” Tasha whispers.
“It’s not your fault. If anything, the responsibility for this might fall squarely into my lap. I watch people file in to see you in concert every night. Young, old, male, female, country music fans, rock ’n’ rollers, jazz fans and everything in between — but I have no idea what this person looks like. I’ve known you for years. It’s possible I’ve helped this person find their seat at a concert or even given you something for you to sign directly from their hands — heck, maybe I even introduced them to you backstage. How would I even know? I don’t know who this person is and neither do you. The scary thing is even with all of Logan’s military experience, he doesn’t know either. We’re all in the dark. All I can think of when I close my eyes before I go to bed at night is every fan who struck me the wrong way. Should I have done more? Should I have said something? Should I have noticed something about someone else I missed? Those questions tumble around in my brain like pebbles in a fast-moving spring.”
Tasha captures my face in her hands as she says, “Jude! Stop. You cannot do this to yourself. We have professional bodyguards who didn’t see anything either and that’s their job.”
“You know how this works, Sirena. Aidan has said it a million times: The team is only as strong as its weakest link. What if I’m the weakest link? We were in the hallway and I saw no one — even though you and I have been taking those classes from Tara. She’s been drilling it in our heads to stay alert to our surroundings. I knew you were in danger, I read those messages and saw those pictures, but I was still more interested in making out with you in the hallway than protecting you from danger.”
Tasha raises an eyebrow as she asks, “Are you done yet? As I recall, there were two of us in the hallway, and I was as involved in the kiss as you were. I’ve heard those same instructions in Tara’s classes.. Since the death threats were about me, don’t you think I should’ve been paying attention? Don’t you think the responsibility should’ve also been on my shoulders? Isn’t it a tiny bit chauvinistic to think because you’re the guy, somehow you have some elevated sense of responsibility to protect me?”
I grind my teeth in frustration. This whole situation is screwed up beyond belief. “Okay, fine, whatever. The bottom line is there’s a death threat sitting over on the dresser, and we missed it. I carried it around in my pocket for an entire day. Who knows where this lunatic is right now? He could be in this hotel, for all we know.”
Tasha springs to her feet, throwing the blanket off her shoulders. “Don’t you think I’ve thought of that? Why do you think I’ve been shaking like a leaf all night? You are so not helping.”
I slump back against the headboard. “Yeah, I know. I suck at this when I don’t know what to do. I knew I shouldn’t talk about it because once I get started, all sorts of crap just flies out of my mouth. Do you want to go to the police department now? We could do that instead of waiting for Logan, if it makes you feel more comfortable.”
Tasha throws her hands up in the air as she says, “I don’t know what to do. When Logan said he wouldn’t be able to be here for a few hours, it didn’t seem like such a big deal — but the longer we wait, the harder it becomes. Maybe we should just go.”
I can see the indecision tearing at Tasha. My stomach tightens and I feel like I want to hurl as I admit, “I want to be the hero here and tell you exactly what to do — but, I don’t know the right answer. Logan said to sit tight until he got here. Still, something in my gut says we should go to the police right now — but what do I know? My gut’s been wrong this whole time. I’m not sure you should listen to anything I have to say.”
“I think you’re carrying way too much blame on your shoulders. First of all, it’s not our job to figure all this stuff out. I guess it’s time to go tell someone whose job it is to fix it. Logan can help them sort it out later. This is probably more my fault than yours because I let it escalate by not calling in help sooner. You don’t need to fix this for me — you can stop trying to be the hero here.”
I know Tasha’s trying to relieve the pressure, but there is a big part of me that’s beyond pissed off I dropped the ball. If there’s anything I’ve learned from my mom, it’s that every woman deserves a hero in her life. I just don’t feel like much of one right now.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
TASHA
THE ATMOSPHERE IN THE CAR on the way over to the police station was ice cold. The conversation between us was better way back when we were perfect strangers. It’s hard not to take all of this personally. I know Jude’s stress level is through the roof and all of this probably isn’t directed at me. Even knowing that, his stony demeanor is disconcerting. Now, as we wait in the interview room, the distance between us is obvious and palpable. I wonder how the officer will interpret it — but then again, I’m a TV junkie. I watch way too many crime shows. Maybe none of this means anything and I’m letting my imagination get away from me.
Just before I gnaw my fingernails down to the quick, the door swings open and a police officer in a rumpled suit enters. “Sorry to keep you folks waiting, what can I do for you?”
“We’d like to report a threat,” Jude answers before I can even form a sentence.
The officer’s eyebrows furrow as he asks, “What kind of threat?”
“Umm,” I begin.
“You’re not comin’ in to report that somebody unliked you on Facebook or something, are you? I had one of those this mornin’,” h
e interjects in a tired voice.
I straighten up in the hard, wooden chair as I respond, “No. Nothing like that exactly.”
He pins me with a sharp glance. “What do you mean, ‘not exactly’?”
“Well, I received one really serious threat over my phone messaging app, but the latest threat was delivered in person,” I try to clarify.
The officer’s eyes travel over me in a slow perusal. “Usually in cases like this we look at the ex-boyfriends — or … ex-girlfriends.”
Jude abruptly leans forward in his chair so he is in the officer’s personal space as he says, “That might be what you usually do, but that’s not Tasha’s story. We think the creep is after her because of her job.”
“Uh-huh, I’ve heard it all before,” the officer responds dryly.
Jude visibly bristles and frowns fiercely. “Disrespectful much?”
The officer shifts in his chair and takes a long sip of his coffee. He grimaces and sets his coffee down, nearly tipping it over. “I apologize. You’re right. Let’s start over. My name is Officer Browning. I was out of line. It’s been a stupidly long day. It seems like half our force is out with Norovirus and the rest of us are stuck working doubles and triples.”
As I study him closer, I can see clear signs of fatigue. “I’m sorry, that sucks. I’m Tasha. Tasha Keeley.
“You don’t sound like you’re from around here, Tasha,” he comments.
“That’s because I’m not. I’m from New York, but we live in Oregon now.”
“What brings you to Tennessee?”
“We’re on tour with Aidan O’Brien,” I answer.
“So, you travel from state to state like tailgaters?” Officer Browning asks.
I can see the tips of Jude’s ears grow red, and I know his temper is about to erupt. I jump in to smooth things over before it happens. “Actually we’re a little more official than that. We’re both part of the band.”
Jude’s Song Page 17
