Reckless Abandon (Damaged #2)

by J. C. Hannigan

  Grayson was standing several feet away from me. His face paled when he heard the sirens, and his fists were clenched at his side. I could tell the gravity of his actions was finally starting to seep in through his anger. I approached, coming to a stop in front of him. His eyes were swirling with anger, torture, and regret. He gazed down at me, looking every bit the burning man he'd been five years ago, on the day that I'd walked away.

  I couldn't be mad at Grayson for snapping. He'd only known about Cadence for just over three weeks, and he certainly wasn't prepared for what came with fatherhood and fame. He looked at me as if he finally understood why I'd lied about Cadence, why I had kept her parentage secret from my fans. Not all paparazzi were dangerous, but the few that were—the few that stalked your home and pressed their cameras against your living room window, hoping for a picture of you with your kids—were the ones you had to worry about.

  I put my arms around him, pressing my body to his. I was still shaking, trembling. His arms came up to hold me. Every muscle in his body was tense, poised for fighting, and yet he was trying to comfort me. I closed my eyes, burying my face against his chest and breathing in the scent of him, trying to tell myself that everything would be okay. It had to be.

  The two police officers approached us, eyeing the bleeding man on the ground. "What happened here?" the first one asked while his partner stood silently and imposing beside him. The first cop looked to be in his early forties and had a thick dark mustache, friendly eyes and a patient expression on his weathered face. His badge read Officer Thomas. The second cop was in his thirties and almost as big as Creed. His muscles seemed to ripple as he crossed his arms, his sharp eyes not missing anything about the scene. The way he was staring at us intimidated me. Grayson was still holding me, and I didn't think he'd let me go any time soon.

  "I punched him," Grayson answered rigidly.

  The cop raised his brow, half of his mustache turning up in a smile. "We see that. Why?" the second cop, Officer Roebuck according to his badge, asked in a near bored tone.

  "Several reasons," Grayson answered, his eyes hard. "One, he annoyed me. Two, he's been following me for a while. And lastly...I caught him outside my house taking pictures of my sleeping daughter. He had it coming."

  Thomas nodded with understanding. "I've got two daughters of my own," he remarked, exchanging a look with his partner. "We're just going to take some statements from witnesses. Hang tight, alright?"

  All any of us could do was nod obediently as Officer Thomas pulled out a notepad and approached the crowd of bystanders. I remained in Grayson's arms, still shaking with fear and uncertainty. Kyle, Marcus, Cam, Jenna and Crimson all stood nearby, flanked by Creed and Landon.

  "I'm calling Maddie," Kyle responded shortly. He pulled his phone out and walked a little bit away from us. He started speaking animatedly into the phone, a scowl on his face. "Well, find a way to fix this mess!" he barked before ending the call.

  "What did she say?" My voice shook. Maddie hadn't joined us for lunch; she'd claimed that she had business to attend to. It made me suspicious the way that things had gone down. Maddie was my friend, but she also worked for the label first. If Brent demanded she tip the paparazzi off about our lunch date, she would have done it thinking no harm would come to anyone. After all, we were used to being swarmed by reporters. But what she likely hadn't counted on was Grayson's temper.

  Kyle looked at me, his jaw clenching and releasing while he considered just how much to tell me. He sighed. "Stellar Magazine released a special issue report detailing that your late sister's daughter is really your daughter. Photos of you and Grayson and Cadence are compared with an 'expert' saying it's 'beyond possible'," he finally answered after realizing that I was bound to find out eventually. All I had to do was open my cell phone up and search my name.

  My knees buckled, but I remained held in place by Grayson's strong arms.

  "Fuck," Grayson spat.

  "I need to call home," I said.

  "I'll call Aubrey," Marcus promised, pulling his phone out and scrolling quickly through his contacts. "Aubrey? Yeah. We know. Are you with them? Is everything okay there? They aren't swarming the house, are they?"

  It was killing me that I couldn't hear Aubrey's answers, but Marcus looked relieved at least. One of the benefits to living in Canada was that word traveled a bit slower. Had my family lived in the states, especially near Hollywood, the house would have already been inundated.

  All I could think about was Cadence and Grayson. Nothing else. My mind was numb. I didn't care if I'd pissed off our fans by my lie. I didn't care if the label would be furious. I didn't care about anything but making sure that my family was okay, and it was impossible to do anything in this instance while we waited to find out exactly what was going to happen next. I had a terrible feeling that it wasn't going to be good.

  I watched soundlessly as Roebuck checked in with the paramedic and talked to the reporter. He crouched down, speaking words that I couldn't hear. The man replied venomously, pointing at Grayson with a shaking hand. His nose was no longer bleeding; it was set and bandaged, but his eyes were already bruised and swollen.

  "I've spoken to the witnesses, and they've confirmed your story. Most of these reporters are scum. Can't say I wouldn't have done the same thing in your shoes, son," Thomas said, shaking his head while Roebuck approached with a solemn look on his face.

  "He still wants to press charges," Officer Roebuck said, confirming my fears. I felt a sensation similar to that of my heart dropping into my stomach.

  "Sorry, son, you're going to have to come with us to the station." Thomas sighed heavily, as if this hadn't been the outcome he wanted. He pulled a pair of handcuffs out from his utility belt.

  "Is that necessary?" I demanded, swallowing hard. Grayson's hands came up to my forearms, gently squeezing. My arms stayed locked around his waist. I didn't want to let him go.

  "This is the fun part of the job." Thomas grinned, winking. "It almost makes up for the massive amount of paperwork we'll have to do. Don't worry, he won't be held for long...but I still get to cuff him!"

  Officer Thomas was attempting to be funny, but I couldn't find the humor in the situation. I looked up at Grayson with panic-filled eyes.

  "It'll be alright," he assured me, pulling me against him for a moment. His lips found mine quickly before he released me. I felt empty without his arms around me.

  Officer Thomas cuffed him after sending me an apologetic look. I watched as the police officers lead Grayson to the cruiser. Officer Roebuck put his hand over Grayson's head, helping him into the back of the cruiser. I swallowed hard, the tears finally spilling freely down my cheeks.

  Jenna and Crimson both stepped forward to stand beside me, trying to provide comfort. "It'll be okay," Crimson said. "He might get charged with assault, but he won't go to jail...unless this isn't his first offense?"

  I thought back to that night after the semi-formal in high school, when Grayson had punched Kyle. While Kyle hadn't pressed charges, I had no idea what kind of activities Grayson had gotten into after. He could very well have a record already, in which case there was a high likelihood he could end up in jail.

  I let out a strangled whimper.

  "Get her home," Kyle instructed after taking one look at me.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Grayson

  I DON'T KNOW HOW MUCH time had passed since the incident with the reporter outside the restaurant. After bringing me into the station for questioning, Officer Thomas deposited me into one of the holding cells and hadn't been back since then. There was a clock on the wall across from the bars, but I couldn't read it. It has to be broken, I thought, convinced that the hands hadn't moved an inch since my arrival.

  It would be just like the police officers to let the batteries die on the only clock within view; I know I would have laughed if I were them. God knew you had to get your laughs in somewhere when dealing with the criminals and trash of society. Good people didn't end u
p on the cold metal bench. Misunderstandings were not really misunderstandings.

  I sat on that cold metal bench, my feet tapping impatiently on the tiled floor. The holding cell stank of vomit and piss. I wasn't the only one in it, either. A couple of other people were waiting there, most of them slumped on the floor and leaning against the bars of the cell. Almost every last one of them looked blitzed out of their minds; glassy eyes, rotting teeth, the permanent stench of despair. It was enough to almost choke me.

  Despite how much I was freaking out on the inside, I remained calm and stoic. Cooperative. I'd answered every question, gave a thorough account of what had happened at my house a week ago, and even provided the names of the officers that had filed the incident report.

  I didn't have any previous charges against me, despite all the fights I'd gotten in throughout my life. My juvenile record had been wiped clean at the age of eighteen, and I hadn't been caught since. Still, I deserved to be in this stinking cell, and I knew it.

  I should have controlled my temper. I shouldn't have let that fucker's gloating smirk taunt me to no return, but all my rage from the other night when I had chased the same fucker came flooding back and all I could picture in my head was Cadence's terrified expression when she woke up to see a strange man pressing his face against the window.

  It was a primitive, Neanderthal move on my part, but I can't say I regretted it. Even knowing that I probably fucked things up in some way for Everly.

  Everly. My heart twisted at the thought of the look on her face when that fucker started running his mouth.

  "I said, why did you lie about your daughter?"

  My fists clenched with the strong desire to punch him again. As if it was any of his fucking business. The only people Everly hadn't told the truth to were people who didn't need to know it. Just because she was a successful singer didn't mean that she had to lay out all the intimate details of her life for public consumption. The public's obsession with the rich and famous was nauseating. I didn't understand why they couldn't just accept the talent these people brought without needing to know who they were dating or where they lived or what kind of workout clothes they wore to the gym.

  "You told your fans that she was your niece! A source close to you says that you are her mother and that he is the father."

  I couldn't get the reporter's smug tone out of my head. A source close to you. Who could that have been? Suddenly, the blood in my veins turned to ice. Lindsay Little.

  "Dixon, get up." Officer Thomas' sudden appearance startled me. He was standing in front of the jail cell, holding it open and waiting for me to get up off my ass and walk over. The other people in the cell watched with bored eyes as I stood up and crossed over. Officer Thomas locked the jail back up behind me then motioned for me to follow him down the hall.

  He led me to an interrogation room and told me to make myself comfortable in the metal chair across the table from him. The chair legs scrapped against the tile floor as I pulled it out. I sat down, my eyes never leaving Officer Thomas' face.

  Thomas leaned back in his own chair, regarding me with quiet authority. He sighed heavily, running his index finger and thumb across his mustache, as if making sure every little hair was properly in place.

  "You remind me of myself when I was younger," he finally said, breaking the silence. "I had a temper like you wouldn't believe."

  I didn't exactly know how to respond to that, so I settled for pursing my lips and nodding in acknowledgment. My feet tapped against the tile floor with impatience. I wanted to get out of here and back to her. I wanted to figure out just how much I'd fucked up.

  The last time Everly had witnessed me lose my temper was at that stupid semi-formal after party when I knocked Kyle out. She hadn't been impressed.

  Thomas cleared his throat and leaned forward. "I've advised the reporter to drop charges." He stared at me, waiting for me to say something.

  "Why?" I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to figure this guy out. He reeked of authority and seemed like an alright guy, but I couldn't understand why he'd advise another person to drop a clearly deserved charge. I'd broken the fucker's nose, and I'd do it again in a heartbeat...but laws were laws.

  "His name is Greg Burningham," Thomas replied, waiting for me to recognize the name from somewhere. "Does that name mean anything to you?"

  "No. I don't know anybody by that name."

  "About a year ago, he tried to break into Ms. Daniels' home," Thomas stated, looking at a paper in front of him. He shoved it over to me so I could read it.

  I swallowed hard as I read the police report. It detailed the night that Greg Burningham broke into Everly's house. Photos taken from the security cameras she'd positioned outside her house zeroed in on his face. It was almost hard to recognize him. The man I punched was fit and trim, his hair was dark. The man in the picture had light hair and was overweight. He wore a baseball hat and dark clothes. It was difficult to tell from the grainy photo, but he appeared to have a blotchy face and a fatter nose too.

  I clenched my fists so tightly that my knuckles cracked in protest. Luckily, Everly hadn't been seriously injured. According to her statement, he'd told her that he was in love with her and they were destined to be together, then he tried to kiss her.

  I shuddered to think of what could have happened had Everly's housekeeper not called the police.

  "So." I swallowed again, my Adams apple bobbing up and down while I desperately fought to control my temper. I wanted to flip the table upside down and get the fuck out of here, find that asshole and really rearrange his face. "You're telling me that I'm sitting in this room, getting interrogated for punching a low-life piece of shit who not only stalked my girlfriend here in Los Angeles, but also followed her home to Canada to stalk her some more? And he's not in here?"

  Thomas sighed, massaging his temple as if he had a migraine. "I've advised Ms. Daniels to press charges again, and she will. He will get into trouble for violating his no contact order. He can still press charges against you because according to the law, the two incidents are completely different."

  "That's bullshit," I growled, scowling.

  "I know." Thomas smiled without humor. "So, here's what's going to happen. You're going to post bail. You're going to go home. You're going to press charges against him for trespassing on your property. You'll have to return to LA for the hearing and you can either plead guilty or not guilty. If you plead guilty you'll have to pay a fine and probably do community service. It's not a big deal; you'll face no jail time."

  "And what's going to happen to this fuckwatt?" I demanded, shoving the police report back on him. "He obviously hasn't gotten the hint that he needs to stay away from Everly."

  "I know." Thomas sighed. "Unfortunately, there are a lot of his kind out there. But I think once you guys bring up charges against him, he'll back off."

  "You think?" I muttered darkly, shaking my head. "That's supposed to ease our minds?"

  He chose not to respond, shrugging as if the whole thing couldn't be helped. "I've advised Ms. Daniels to press charges again, and she will. But unfortunately, the two incidents are considered separate from one another. You assaulted him, regardless of the very good reasons, and that is against our laws. So, you'll have to appear in court. Probably in a month."

  "Fine," I grumbled, leaning back against the chair. I ran a hand through my hair, tugging at it in aggravation.

  Thomas watched me carefully before sliding another document over; my terms for bail. I read it, signed it and handed it back.

  "You're free to go, son. But I'd recommend finding a ride. It's a mad house out there right now."

  "Why?"

  "You're top news right now," Thomas informed me, standing up. He stretched a little, his paunch straining the buttons of his uniform.

  He led me out front and told me to wait at the front desk. After collecting my personal items, I was free to go. I peered outside the station doors, seeing the abundance of reporters lining the sidewalk, c
ameras poised and ready for action.

  "What the fuck?" I growled just as my cell phone started to go off. I didn't recognize the number. "What?" I snapped, somewhat aggravated.

  "Get your ass out back, dumbass," Kyle's voice came through the line, snapping impatiently before disconnecting. Frowning, I looked behind me. Officer Thomas was still watching me with an almost bemused smile on his face.

  "Officer Thomas?" I asked. He raised his eyebrows, urging me to continue. "Is there a back exit?"

  "Of course." He chuckled, motioning for me to follow him.

  I walked out of the back of the station, seeing Kyle's sleek black Bugatti parked in the back lot amongst the police cars. He was leaning against it, scowling at me.

  "Where's Everly?" I demanded, needing to hear that she was okay. Kyle's expression softened for a moment at the mention of her name. I regarded him carefully.

  "She's at her place, waiting for you," he answered shortly. He walked around his tiny yet impressive car, opening the driver’s side. He gave me a hard look. "Get in."

  The last thing I wanted to do was place myself in another situation where my anger could get the better of me, and it was likely that I'd lay into Kyle—especially if he pulled any of his old shit with me. My patience was shot.

  Regardless, I didn't exactly have a whole lot of options when it came to a ride and I was desperate to get to Everly, and fast. The Bugatti could get me there fast, even if I'd have to endure Kyle. I stepped up to the car, opening the door warily and squeezing into the tiny vehicle. The interior was all sleek black leather, and very cramped.

  I was taller than Kyle, but I still didn't understand how he could sit inside this vehicle comfortably. I was more of a truck guy and always had been. Muscle cars were impressive to look at, and maybe even fun to drive, but impractical for a guy of my height.