Fame & Obsession (Lords Of Lyre Book 1)

by Cora Kenborn

  “Julian, I really…”

  He rubbed a hand across his smirking face, and stepped closer. Pregnancy had heightened my sense of smell, and I immediately knew that wasn’t his first drink.

  “You really what, Phoebe? How long did you wait before climbing into his bed?”

  He might as well have slapped me. “What about you?” I screamed, anger getting the best of me. “You didn’t waste any time rerouting your dick back into Vivian, did you?”

  Julian snorted, throwing a ten dollar bill on the bar and nodding to the bartender. “If you had a little faith, princess, maybe you’d realize I haven’t touched her all night. There’s a reason I’m here with her, and it has to do with protecting you. You two, on the other hand, had your hands all over each other.” His voice escalated as stares and whispers circled the room.

  “Can we please go somewhere else to talk?” I begged softly.

  “Funny,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I said the same thing to you half an hour ago. Should I give you the same response you gave me?” He stalked away from the bar, leaving me with my mouth open.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Julian

  “What the hell am I supposed to do with beer and ketchup?” I slammed the refrigerator door and cursed. “Does anyone buy shit around here but me?”

  I wanted to make a sandwich. Fucking cheese, meat, and bread, and those idiots couldn’t even keep food in the house without me.

  Fuck my life.

  “Cool your heels. You’ve carted J.K. Rowling around in the car for weeks. We didn’t have wheels,” Ty said, stumbling into the kitchen, stretching his arms above his head.

  “Fucking buy your own,” I snapped, grabbing a bag of chips from the pantry. “These are mine now. Fuck whoever bought them.” Filling my hand full, I shoved the whole thing in my mouth.

  “Dude, who pissed in your cereal bowl?” He moved in front of me and pulled a carton of orange juice out of the refrigerator. Turning it up, he drank from the spout.

  “Man, that’s fucking nasty, use a glass like a normal person.”

  Licking his lips, Ty narrowed his gaze and sighed. “The carton is almost empty, Jag. I’m going to not kick your ass because obviously something is bugging you. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been acting like such an asshole for weeks now.” He tossed the carton in the garbage and crossed his arms. “Spill it, before I change my mind and lay you out.”

  The words hurt to say. “Phoebe’s dating someone else.”

  “What’d you expect, man?” He ran his hands over the top of his long hair. “You dumped her. Did you expect her to join a convent?”

  I threw the chips across the counter. “I fucking know, all right? You don’t understand, Ty. She fucked me in a way I can’t forgive.” I pulled the Vinyl article out of my jacket and showed him. I waited for his shocked reaction. When he just shrugged, I got pissed. “That’s it?”

  “Jag, we’re a band. You think we haven’t all read the article?”

  “She sold me and Lam out, Ty!”

  “No, she didn’t,” he said calmly.

  I raked my hands through my hair. “Are you kidding me right now?”

  “You gotta get over this obsession with Lam’s accident, man. The world won’t condemn you if they know you were too drunk to pick up your brother. Billy made a choice to get behind that wheel. Why do you think it’s your fault?”

  “Because it is!” I yelled, ready to lose my shit.

  Ty spun around, spreading his arms wide. “Fucking hell, Jag! What’s with you? We’ve told you, over and over, it wasn’t your fault. It could’ve been any of us behind that wheel. The point is, man, none of us were driving the fucking car that hit him.”

  “But it was my responsibility to pick up my brother,” I whispered. The pain closed in, crushing me. “Ryker was my responsibility. Lam would be alive if I’d been a man instead of a selfish shit.” My chest hurt, and the one thing that could make it stop, I’d thrown away.

  “Okay, fine. You win, yes, you were a selfish shit and partied when you should’ve been an adult. But, dude—you pushed the keys away, you didn’t hand them over to Lam.” He emphasized the last phrase and rounded the kitchen island. “Did you know Z took the keys first?”

  “No.” Now I felt nauseous. It could’ve been Zane?

  “Lam said he needed to pick up something for his mom anyway. He took the keys from Z. Billy Lamee was an adult, Jag. When I said we all made a choice that night, I meant it. You made a choice not to drive drunk. The guy who hit Billy didn’t. Nobody but you can see where guilt fits in the equation, man.” His voice lowered. “Nobody ever has. We’ve tried to tell you this for months. You just refused to listen.”

  His words were my undoing. Something needed to absorb the vortex of emotion building in me so I turned and swung my fist into the drywall.

  “Fuck! What am I supposed to do with this, Ty?” Shaking my hand, I leaned against the wall. “I feel broken.”

  He let out a humorless laugh. “You’re not Humpty Dumpty, dude. You may be cracked but you’re not broken. You’ll find a way to put yourself back together.”

  Out of nowhere, Phoebe’s words came back to me. Painful words spoken on the terrace of the Jameson Hotel the night I first touched her. In that moment, I needed her more than anything.

  “I can’t fall off the wall and put myself back together again, Julian.”

  As two broken halves, we were powerless, but maybe united as a whole we could put each other back together again. If she’d still have me.

  ***

  Conflicting emotions didn’t bead the sweat on my forehead as much as nerves. I grabbed my keys off the kitchen counter and headed toward the door. What if she refused to accept my apology?

  It was irony at its finest. I finally considered letting go of the guilt I’d shouldered for a year, and it could all be for shit. If Phoebe turned me away, I might as well be back in the hole I’d lived in for the past year. She’d given me light and I willingly turned my back on it.

  I couldn’t even think about that. I’d tell her everything. I’d stand behind that goddamn article, no matter what Helena said. If Phoebe wanted to fight this stalker out in the open, we’d fucking fight. I’d fight for her.

  I’m in love with Phoebe Ryan.

  The silent admission broke a step in my stride.

  I had to make a big enough gesture to make her believe in me again. She’d made a public stand by willingly obliterating her privacy in an international article. Why did I just now see that for what it was? Declaring my feelings wasn’t equivalent to her sacrifice, but maybe facing my fears would prove how much I believed in her—in us.

  Wrenching the door open, the words I wanted to say repeated over in my head. I focused on the keys in my hand and stepped into a tall, lean, well-dressed man in a pressed, dark blue suit.

  “Julian Bale?”

  “Who wants to know?” I stood frozen in place, threatened by his mere presence.

  He stepped to the side, and I was confronted by a hardened jawline and cropped dark hair with deep-set frown lines. He regarded me curiously. No one just showed up at my house. The hairs stood up on the back of my neck, and the stalker crossed my mind. Could that bitch have sent a hit man to my house?

  “May we step inside and talk for a moment?” he asked, pointing toward the living room.

  “I’d rather stay here, if it’s all the same to you,” I said, refusing to move. If I was about to die, I’d do it on my own terms.

  “Actually,” he said, slipping beside me and glancing around my house. “It isn’t the same to us. And thanks for the invitation.”

  “I didn’t…wait, did you say us?” What the hell was this?

  He gestured to two uniform-clad men following him inside. “Mr. Bale, these are Officers Grimes and Paloma from the New Jersey State Police, and I’m Detective Jaxon Hough.” Making himself comfortable, he sat on my couch and nodded to the seat beside him. “I’m with the New
York Police Department. Please, have a seat, Mr. Bale.”

  Unease set in as I looked the three men over one by one. Something didn’t feel right in my gut about this and the buzzing in the base of my skull told me something bad was about to happen. Slowly, I sank onto the cushion beside the detective.

  “What’s this about, Detective?” I asked suspiciously.

  “Call me Jaxon,” he said with a curt nod.

  “Detective, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but could you please tell me why the NJSP and a New York detective are in my house? Isn’t that a contradiction of jurisdiction or something?”

  His gaze remained stoic. “Not when the murder happened in one of my boroughs, Mr. Bale. Officers Grimes and Paloma are here because of protocol, not because I need babysitters.”

  The impact of his words crashed down and I leaned forward with my elbows on my knees for support. “I’m sorry, did you say murder?”

  “A young lady was found today behind an alley in Murray Hill.”

  I gripped a handful of my t-shirt, trying to relieve the crushing pressure in my chest. Phoebe and Harlow lived in Murray Hill. Even with security watching her, I’d failed to protect her. Vivian had somehow seen through my front at the party and gotten to Phoebe.

  Everything moved in slow motion as I forced myself to ask the question. “Her name.”

  “Excuse me?” said Hough, crinkling his forehead.

  “Her name,” I croaked again, my throat dry with sickness from the confirmation I feared was coming. “The girl in the alley. What was her name?”

  Please, god, don’t say Phoebe Ryan.

  “You seem very disturbed, Mr. Bale.” His eyes roved suspiciously over my living room.

  “Her name.” I dipped my chin in an attempt to stop myself from unraveling. “I need her name.”

  “You know you’ve got to give me more than that, Mr. Bale.”

  “My girlfriend lives in Murray Hill,” I admitted. “Please, god, just tell me.”

  “What’s your girlfriend’s name?” Hough asked, clasping his hands together.

  “Phoebe Ryan.” The words exhaled like a prayer. I’d never prayed in my life. Right now seemed like a good time to start.

  He stared at me as I looked his face over for salvation. Jaxon Hough couldn’t be more than five years older than me, but in that moment he was judge and jury handing down my sentence.

  “It’s not your girlfriend, Mr. Bale.”

  The whoosh of air made me realize I’d been holding my breath.

  “The victim’s name is Vivian Hart.” He paused while watching my face for a reaction. “She was stabbed seven times and left for dead in a residential area of Murray Hill.”

  The confession shocked me. “Vivian?”

  “Witnesses have you at the Jameson Hotel with the victim last night. Mr. Bale, can you account for your whereabouts from the hours of two a.m. until five a.m.?” He monitored my expression closely.

  I transitioned into autopilot, my mind still on Phoebe and Vivian. “My roommates, Ty Lachner and Zane Tierney, were here with me all night.”

  He shifted a hard stare at me. “And they were awake and saw you here the entire time?”

  “Yes. It was kind of a bad night. We drank a few beers and talked.” Shock began to manifest as anger. “You want to know what I was wearing as well?”

  He smiled politely. “No, that’ll be fine. I’ll talk to them soon enough.” He wrote in his notebook then glanced at me again. “So, you were friends with Miss Hart?”

  “She’s my ex.” This made no sense. Jesus, Vivian.

  “Interesting.” He scribbled in a black leather notebook.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, still reeling.

  Closing the notebook, he shoved it in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “Well, it’s kind of coincidental, don’t you think? Your ex-girlfriend is butchered and dumped in the same neighborhood in which your current girlfriend resides? It’s got all the makings of a Predator Confidential special.”

  His mention of the crime documentary Access Live spoke of at the gala sparked a memory. I must’ve made a face that caught his attention. He wrote in his notebook again.

  Something about Vivian’s attack rang familiar.

  “Not a fan, Mr. Bale?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, stalking to the door. “I’m too busy being in fucking shock over my ex-girlfriend’s death to shoot the shit about your favorite TV show.” I glared at him and flung the door open. “If there’s nothing else—assuming you’re not here to charge me with anything—you can leave.”

  Detective Hough nodded to the two officers and all three rose walked toward the door. As Officers Grimes and Paloma exited, he stopped and turned with a quizzical look. “Where were you going before, Mr. Bale?”

  “Ironically, to see your brothers across the river,” I said, goading him.

  “I’m not following.”

  “NJSP—I’m sure you’ve heard all about my stalker problem?” I said sarcastically.

  He laughed dryly. “Mr. Bale, contrary to what celebrities think, we don’t sit around the station listening to gossip shows. We have the real world to deal with and there are bad guys in it.” He leaned against the door frame. “The only way I’d know if you had a stalker is if you walked into the precinct and told me.”

  “Which is where I was going when you stopped me.”

  “Why don’t you come to the station with us so I can ask a few questions concerning Miss Hart? I’ll have someone take your statement about the stalking incident so we can process the file.” He raised an expectant eyebrow.

  “Are you asking or telling?” Everything happened so fast, it finally hit me that Viv was dead. She wasn’t the stalker. Vindictive as she was, she was still someone’s daughter. At one time she’d been important in my life. She sure as fuck didn’t deserve to die. Especially not the way they described. I stopped mid-stride as my brain finally made the connection that’d been plaguing me. “You said she was stabbed seven times?” I looked at him harshly as he nodded. “Were they stomach wounds?”

  Detective Hough’s eyes rounded and his cool reserve dropped. “How’d you know that?”

  Phoebe.

  Jesus. Her scars. There were seven on her abdomen. I knew—I’d kissed them all.

  “Let’s go, Detective Hough. There’s a lot to explain and it goes back about twelve months.”

  ***

  By the time I left the police station it was dusk. I ditched my Circa appointed security guard and wasted no time making my way to Phoebe’s brownstone. Within seconds my fist pounded on the front door.

  “Phoebe? It’s me, let me in.” The apartment was quiet and sounded like it’d been empty for weeks, although I knew better. My head knew it was Vivian who’d been attacked, but I couldn’t settle until I held her in my arms. Pounding harder, I barked orders. “Open the door or I’m coming in anyway.”

  Heated words exchanged inside and I stopped to listen. My half-crazed screams were a vast contrast to the calm male voice on the other side. “Bale, if you break this door, I’ll have you arrested!”

  “I need to talk to her. Open the fucking door, Harlow!” I banged again, each crack of metal against bone matched the pain in my chest. “Open this goddamn door or I swear to Christ, it’s coming down.”

  Before I could react, the plain metal door swung open and Gage Harlow stood fuming, his fist curled around a silver baseball bat. “She’s not here.”

  I spoke through clenched teeth. “You think I’m some kind of fucking moron?”

  “After watching four ER doctors pump my best friend’s stomach, do you really want me to answer that?” Harlow sneered, twirling the bat in his hands. “You’ve got some psycho bitch after you and now she’s hurt Phoebe. And you—fuck, man—haven’t you done enough? You’re done.”

  For the second time in less than two hours, my heart stopped.

  “What do you mean they pumped her stomach?” Ty’s words about L
am’s ex-girlfriend seeing Phoebe at the hospital ran through my head.

  “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath as if he’d said too much. “Nothing. Go home, Bale.” He twirled the bat in clenched hands. “Go back to your whore. I’m taking care of her.”

  “Fuck you, Harlow! You don’t know me.”

  “Neither does she. Go home or I’ll make good on the promise I made when we met.” He lifted the bat and rested it against his shoulder, tightening his grip on the handle as he slammed the door.

  “Vivian’s dead,” I blurted out. The words cut just to say.

  The door cracked open again, and he stuck a boot in between us, his face ashen. “What the hell did you say?”

  “The police just left my house.”

  “What happened?” he said, lowering the bat.

  “You don’t want to know.” Shudders ran through me. It could’ve been Phoebe in that alley.

  “Then there’s nothing more to say,” he said, reaching for the door. “Like I said, she’s busy.”

  I shoved my foot between the door and the frame. “I was an idiot to let her go, but I don’t make the same mistake twice. The only way I’m moving from this door is if you physically drag me.” Harlow loved Phoebe like a sister and would protect her—especially from me—but Vivian’s murder shocked me into reality. No one would keep me from what was mine anymore.

  He glared at me and stood his ground. “Do you know what she’s done for you? Do you even care?” He pointed to her bedroom door then turned back, eyes blazing. “Do you know the pieces I had to pick up that day? I can’t go through that again, but Phoebe can make that call herself if, or when, she chooses.”

  My control almost snapped as I listened to him, then his gesture registered.

  She’s inside.

  He’d tipped his hand without realizing it.

  “Thanks, now I know she’s in there.” With new resolve, I stepped forward. “Get out of my way, Harlow.” I scanned the room. “Phoebe? Answer me.”

  “Motherfucker!” He shoved the end of the bat into my gut and called out over his shoulder to his boyfriend. “Baby! Get my phone.”