I texted him to tell him I was fine, but to leave me alone another day. After making damn sure I didn’t have a single text or missed call from Noah—which, of course, I didn’t—I shut the phone off again and left it ignored on the bedside table.
Hours passed blankly as I stared at the TV, barely even caring enough to change the channel when something shit came on the air. The only thing I cared to see was news that Noah had released the video and that everything would be okay for him. It was the only good thing that was going to come out of this garbage fire of a life decision I had made.
I fell in and out of sleep, and picked at the room service food when I got hungry. The minibar was toast. I was determined to spend every last dime cleared by the magazine for my expense account before they fired me for losing this story.
My dreams were of Noah. I could smell him on the beach as clear as day. I could feel the firm contours of his muscles under the palm of my hands, and his soft lips on mine.
After two days of depressed wallowing, I found the strength to drag myself to the shower and clean up the hotel room. On my invitation, Steve met me downstairs in the hotel lobby for breakfast at the complimentary buffet. We grabbed a table in the corner, away from the smattering of tourist families and old timers traveling cross-country who got up with the sun.
Steve looked more worried than mad as he shook salt and pepper over his eggs and said my name with a sigh. “Are you all right? You look like hell.”
“I’ll live,” I said, even though I felt exactly the opposite of that. “But you wanted to talk about the email, so let’s talk.”
“Let’s talk about what’s going on with you, first. What the hell?”
“Look, you were right,” I said, leaning back in my chair. I couldn’t look at him as I shook my head. “You were right. I was… I am in love with Noah. I fucked up and I got too close.”
The snarky reply I braced for didn’t come. Steve only watched me with curious, sort of sad eyes. “I was just trying to give you shit. I didn’t mean to make you feel ashamed for having feelings for someone.”
Raising a hand, I said, “It’s not that. I just want you to understand why I did what I did with the video. Yes, it was a huge loss for both of us and our careers. I know that, and I’m sorry. I don’t have any excuse for it.” I shrugged and poked at the food on my plate with my fork. “The moment came and I couldn’t do it to him. Even if it was going to save him at the same time, I couldn’t also exploit him… couldn’t unearth and give to the public everything he’s tried to keep for himself, just so I could make some tiny gain in my bullshit career.”
Disappointment was apparent on Steve’s expression, but so was something else. His mouth pursed in the corner and he put down his fork. He reached a hand across the table and held it out until I took it. “He didn’t take it well when you blew your cover, did he?”
I shook my head. Steve’s image began to blur in my eyes. “No. Not that he should have.”
Steve squeezed my hand. I used my other to fumble for a napkin and wipe my eyes.
“I just wish you had come to me before you did this, that’s all. I thought we were in this together. Maybe together we could have found another way.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry. It is on the long list of unprofessional behavior that is probably going to end my career once we get home.”
“You’re just human,” said Steve as he squeezed my hand once more and released it. “And even if we didn’t get the scoop, you did save an innocent guy from getting sent to prison. That’s a good day for any journalist, Laurel.”
I guess he wasn’t wrong there. I would always hold that action close to my heart as one to be proud of. “Can you forgive me?”
“Yes, but only because you’re going to owe me a massive, Godfather-sized favor in the future. I’m talking, like, disposing-of-a-body massive.”
I wasn’t joking when I said, “Deal, Steve. Anything.”
“And, of course, you have to be the one to call Domino.”
I sighed and stared at the waffles on my plate that were slowly getting cold. “Yeah, I know. Let me have my goddamn breakfast first so I can have something to throw up afterwards.”
“I don’t understand. When I talked to Steve a few days ago, he said you were both onto something… and I quote, ‘bombshell as fuck.’ Was Steve just blowing his load too early?”
My editor, Domino Baptiste, was a beautiful woman from the West Indies who worked her way up through the East Coast punk scene during a time when both women and black people were not nearly as welcome. There was no fucking with her. Not that I’d want to—I respected Domino and used her as a template for what I wanted to become. But I had failed that template, and myself. I didn’t realize until I heard her voice over the line how deeply it was going to cut me to disappoint her.
This was all a fancy way of saying I couldn’t keep my tears in my eyes as I told her I didn’t have the story I had promised her. My voice stayed even though sheer determination, so maybe she couldn’t hear my pathetic crying, but it was happening regardless.
“No,” I said. “No, this isn’t on Steve, he was only following the information I got. This isn’t his fault.”
“So this is your fault? What happened, Laurel? The fire under your ass in your pitch meeting wasn’t a lie. You were hungry for this.”
“I was. And please believe me when I say I did everything I possibly could to get to that information I needed. But it was just… beyond me.”
Domino hummed into the phone, a sound she made when she wasn’t buying what I was selling. “Nothing’s beyond you, Laurel. The Tusk story was a disaster, but it wasn’t because you lack ability; it was because you didn’t use your abilities properly. Is that what’s happening here?”
I didn’t know what to tell her. Already confessing the truth to Steve had drained me. How could I tell my mentor why I failed? “I don’t know, Domino. I just know this story isn’t… it’s not happening like I thought. And I’m sorry. I fucked this up.”
“And you’re sure you can’t find any way to salvage it? The mag will pay for more time out there, if that’s what it takes.”
“No,” I said immediately, shutting my eyes as I did. “No, this can’t be salvaged.”
Domino was quiet for a moment. She had to have known there was something I wasn’t telling her. “We’ll talk about all this when you get back into town. How long do you need to wrap things up there?”
I need to stay forever, said one part of me. I want to be teleported out of here immediately, said the other. The idea of having even just one extra day to try and get in contact with Noah and soothe the deep pain in my heart was intoxicating, but fortunately, I was at least mature enough to recognize what a mistake that would be. Noah had made it very clear at the beach how he felt, and hadn’t contacted me since. I was the invading force, here—the conquistador who came to pillage for my own benefit. I had no right to demand his response. And I loved him too much to disrespect him that way.
It was over. The white flags had to be raised.
“I can be ready to fly home tonight.”
~ NINETEEN ~
Noah
This would be the last time I sat around this conference table—or any table—with these men, and I knew that now in my heart. On the far side, away from Quinn and I, sat the three I had thought were my brothers. Or in the case of Duke, at least an ally with a mutual goal I could count on to protect the band when things got dark.
But I was wrong about all of them. And now they would pay for it.
Gavin stood at the head of the table near the windows. The day outside was fitting for my mood: completely gray-black with swirling violent skies keeping out the light. As Gavin fumbled with the TV display and the DVD I had given him, I watched the skies churn and ignored everyone in the room. Unlike previous meetings, the feeling of having Duke so close just slid by me like water off a duck’s back now. This was over, and I had the victory. He didn’t have an
y power over me anymore.
The pain in my heart came from a different place now. The spot that held my band was beginning its mourning period, something it was well practiced at, even if this one would be the toughest. But the deep, bright place that Laurel had burrowed into didn’t have the same kind of experience with darkness, and every beat sent fresh waves of ache through my muscles. And that pain was greater than anything Duke could have ever done to me.
After a moment, Gavin got the equipment working. Before he played the DVD, he turned to the assembled table. “As you all know, Noah’s asked us here today because he has something important related to his case to show us, and he wanted us to be the first. Noah, do you want to say anything before we get this going?”
I shook my head, and didn’t move my gaze from the window. “Just play the damn thing.”
Gavin didn’t reply, only followed my instructions. The men stared at the looped video from a front-row attendee. They watched the soon-to-be-dead man creep his way past the security guards, whose attentions were focused on the crowd per their job instructions, watching for surfers or anybody potentially getting crushed by the mob. They were used to photographers moving behind their backs in the pit all the time. As mad as I wanted to be at them, the video only made it apparent that it was a tragic mistake, a perfect storm of bad timing.
The man crawled up onto the stage, and that was when fans in the front row started pointing. One of the security guards finally turned and saw him, but would never move fast enough to catch him. The fan doing the recording had a perfect angle when he got to his feet and began to advance on Quinn, who was shredding with his eyes closed up against his amp during a solo.
In the man’s hand, a five-inch blade glinted under the stage lights like a Roman candle, clear as day. Everyone in the room started muttering to themselves.
“I told you motherfuckers!” yelled Quinn immediately at the men across the table. “I told you Noah didn’t bullshit about that knife!”
Gavin stood, staring at the TV with his jaw hanging open, completely shocked. “This is a fuckin’ miracle.”
Jeff and Ash both had hollow, pale looks on their faces, like they’d been caught telling a massive lie. Duke just stared at the TV as the video looped again, his face a still sheet of quiet anger and some other emotion I couldn’t quite place. Maybe he wasn’t a complete monster—maybe part of him was just now realizing how he’d thrown a good man overboard.
“We have to get this to the DA and the press immediately!” said Gavin. He put a finger to the Bluetooth headset on his ear, connected to his assistant in her office. “Shelly, can you get—”
“No, wait,” I said, raising a hand. “Just wait, please.”
Gavin froze. “Standby please.” He clicked the receiver off. “What are we waiting for?”
“We can get this to the DA, but do it quietly. I don’t want the press to find out yet.”
Both Quinn and Gavin stared at me with wide, questioning eyes. “Noah, why? This is going to fix everything! The band!” said Quinn.
“Fuck this band,” I said with a laugh, and pointed over to the three on the other side of the table. “I don’t trust these assholes as far as I can throw them. I’m not gonna make music with a bunch of cowardly fucks who can’t even stand by their brothers. We can make something new, Quinn. I just wanted to see the looks on their faces when they realized the truth. Figured I earned it.”
Ash and Jeff leaned around Duke to exchange glances with each other. Jeff tried to sputter at me, “Noah, we… look, we’re sorry. We were just trying to look out for ourselves and our families.”
“Yeah, and what the fuck was I doing?” said Noah. “What about my life? My family?”
“What family?” muttered Ash, bitterly.
That one actually stung. I looked him in the eyes and said, “Fuck you, Ash.”
With nothing left to keep him here, Ash flipped me the bird and got up out of his chair. He yelled at Gavin that his lawyer would be in touch and stomped out of the room. A few moments later, Jeff got up with far less drama, a pathetic stoop to his shoulders.
“I’m sorry, Noah. I should have stood by you,” said Jeff as he patted the top of the chair at the head of the table. I couldn’t look at him, but he didn’t wait for it, or for a reply. He gave an awkward wave to Quinn and Gavin and left the room.
I was surprised Duke was the last to go, allowing himself to be outnumbered in the room. He typically stuck to situations where he had the advantage. But the video seemed to have thrown him off his game just a bit.
None of us had anything to say to him. Quinn just stared, arms crossed, glaring. Convinced the air in the room wasn’t one of violence, Gavin turned back and watched the loop again and again, shaking his head in amazement every time the shot of the knife appeared.
Finally Duke pushed his chair back from the table and rose to his feet. He watched the video loop one more time and started for the door.
“Cat got your tongue, dickwad?” said Quinn to his back.
Duke stopped. He turned his head just a little bit. “I’m glad you’re not going to prison, Hardy.” Nothing in his voice was malicious or sarcastic. It was just that dark, southern drawl that belonged to him on the nights in the bus, in the middle of nowhere, when he finally had his guard down and was just a dude that loved playing guitar.
I let him sweat for a moment before I said, “Thanks.”
Duke left the room. It was the last time we would ever speak to each other.
“Seriously though, Noah,” said Gavin as he switched off the TV, finally satisfied. “What is your plan, here? I’m having trouble wrapping my head around why we don’t email this video to every major media outlet right fucking now.”
“Because I’ve already got plans for getting it to the press; I just need you guys to chill and let me get it finished.”
“Noah,” said Gavin, worried. “What is this plan? You should really let me take a look, I don’t want anything to happen that might—”
“That might what, Gavin? Fuck up the band’s future?” I laughed. It actually felt like a real laugh, for the first time in a while. The bitterness in my heart could never outweigh the feeling of freedom from knowing the truth was out. “Cut Up Angels had a great run, but we’re done. You don’t need to protect us anymore.”
“You’re all still my clients, and you two are my friends. I’ve protected you since you were kids. I’m not about to stop now,” he said with a shake of his head.
“The other guys can do their own interviews and fight me if they really want to, once it’s all out. I don’t care. They can’t stop me now. And you can protect whatever it is Quinn and I decide to do next… after a serious fucking vacation.”
“Oh, good God,” said Quinn with an exasperated sigh. “I didn’t even think of that… Fuck, I’m taking the old lady to Maui.”
That made me smile. I leaned over and patted Quinn on the shoulder and gave him a big smile. For the first time in weeks, his eyes were clear and bright. “Thanks for sticking by me, bro.”
“Don’t get all fucking mushy with me,” said Quinn with a laugh. “We established this a long time ago, man: where you battle, I battle.”
“Just tell me I have the trust of both of you about this,” I said, glancing at each of them in turn. “Trust me you’ll let me get this out my way and be okay with it.”
Quinn and Gavin looked at each other, and then back at me, each of them nodding. “We trust you,” said Quinn.
“And you know we have your back if you wind up needing it,” added Gavin. “I’ll get this to the DA within the hour and tell them to keep quiet about it.”
Another wave of relief washed over me and I smiled at them. “Thanks, guys. I need that strength today.”
“Why, what is it you’re going to do?” Quinn asked as I got up from my chair.
With a sigh, I said, “Maybe the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. But I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t.”
~ TWENTY ~
Laurel
Another episode in the day-long marathon of Seinfeld came on and made me realize I was running late. After I got off the phone with Domino, I told Steve we were ready to get home, and he could not get on the airport’s website fast enough. Every day we had been in Seattle, his bitching about missing New York had grown exponentially. And now, every ten minutes he was texting me, asking me if I was getting packed, and every time I answered “yes, God!”
As I looked over the clothes still strewn on the bed, I realized maybe I should have been a little less snarky with Steve this time. And maybe a few other times. And maybe that Steve was right about me being horrible to fly with.
Hell, that was nothing a few mimosas couldn’t fix. I saw my phone on the nightstand light up with a message and ignored it, instead pulling up my suitcase onto the bed to begin packing in earnest.
The trip had been so chaotic that I hadn’t even kept track of what needed to be washed, so everything got stuffed with equal disregard into the square black bag as efficiently as possible. As I threw in garment after garment, my hand grabbed one that still felt unfamiliar. It was Noah’s heavy, soft sweatshirt—the one he’d gotten on The Rising End’s first tour ever, and kept safe and close since. The one he’d gifted me that day on the beach.
It was all I had left of him. It was strange to acknowledge how quickly everything had happened, despite how deeply I could still feel him in my bones. I wished I had left something of mine with him, something he could see now and remember me by. But something like that might just cause him pain, and that was the last thing I wanted.
Seeing his sweatshirt caused me pain. But it was nothing like the bolt of agony that overcame me when I put the soft thing up to my face and inhaled Noah’s scent mixed with wetness and earth. I hadn’t been around him in days, and yet the scent was so strong, so recognizable, that I collapsed into sobs on the edge of the hotel bed, because it felt like he was in the room with me. I wept into Noah’s sweatshirt until I didn’t have any tears left, and my eyes were swollen and tender.
Unplugged: A Bad Boy Rockstar Romance Page 14
