“How are you dealing with that? I mean, is it going well?” I place my sandwich on a paper plate and take a seat next to him.
“Sure. If you factor in having your big bro as a bodyguard who never lets you out of his sight, even if I wanted to sneak something as innocent as a blunt. Which I don’t.”
I roll my eyes. “He has a certain way of keeping an eye on people he considers problems, doesn’t he?”
Brax murmurs in agreement. “Ever since he was a kid. It’s like, since he’s cleaned up his life, he needs to absorb other people’s fuck-ups as his own and fix them his way. Like he sees himself as some sort of mentor or idol, but won’t admit it.”
“You think he’s changed his life for the better?”
“Well.” Brax pours more candy into his hand, shaking them in thought before tossing them back. “He started to. When he hooked up with that actress chick, he was at the top of his game. The band hit the Billboard charts, raked in cash, he reduced his drinking and recreational weed use, really got into the music and the art. And hey, he hired me, the newly sober little brother as a ride-along, to show me how climbing out of the sewer can be done. Right? The Payne sewer rats scrabble their way up to become millionaires. One of them, anyway.”
Brax’s last sentence rubs me the wrong way. I never knew Brax and Mason to be in competition with one another, but I also haven’t been around them in a decade. As proven by Mason smoking weed, which he wouldn’t touch as a kid. I keep quiet.
“Lately, though, I’m sensing big bro going downhill. He’s upped his drinking, even around me. Used to be, if I were in the room, he’d take steps to ensure he wasn’t rubbing his alcohol use in my face. Now, it seems he doesn’t give a shit.”
I remember back to when the tour started and we left the jet, Mason tripping over his own feet down the stairs. Trying to start fights. Kicking his own guitar case across the tarmac.
“I don’t know what has him so lit,” Brax continues. “When I try to talk to him, he shuts down. Pretends nothing’s wrong. Acts like I’m the idiot who’s reading too much into things.”
“I know what that’s like,” I murmur, then bite into my sandwich.
My comment centers Brax’s attention on me. “You being here came as a surprise, McKenna. A big one. Like, I remember how you guys were those last months in high school. It’s foggy and laced with a lot of coke, but my memories are there. But I also remember how you ended. If I may be so bold, why are you back with him?”
I guffaw, almost spitting out breadcrumbs. Swallowing and dabbing at my mouth, I say, “We’re not together. It’s complicated.”
“Ah. The good ol’ complication bit. I get it.” Brax nods. “I know when I’m being dismissed.”
I lay a hand on his forearm. “I’m not brushing you off, Brax.”
He stares down at my fingers.
I say, “I agree with you when you say Mason tries to fix things he thinks are broken. Especially when he doesn’t see any fractures within himself.”
“Yes.” Brax meets my eyes. “You say it so much better than I do. You’ve always been so smart. And super intimidating, especially when you stepped into our neighborhood. You still doing good? Last I heard, you were off to some college that wouldn’t look at me sideways even if I had the cash and Mason’s rockstar name to give them.”
“Oh. That.” I lift my hand away from his arm. “I only did a year there. Life doesn’t always go as planned.”
“Cryptic.” Brax offers me Skittles, but I shake my head, lifting my sandwich instead. Yet, I keep feeling his stare. “You seem different, though. Still a brainiac, but … did something happen to you? Is that why Mason’s swooped in?”
“I, um…”
I’ve never been ashamed of what I do. But in this instance, the contract’s fine-print blares into my mind’s eye and the money I’ll miss out on if I screw anything up. I also can’t ignore the lingering sense that I want Brax to stay proud of me. And that, if I tell him the truth, his eyes will shutter the same way everyone else’s does when they figure out my calling.
I set my sandwich aside. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
“Was it something I said? I’m sorry, McKenna. I don’t mean to offend.”
“You haven’t,” I assure. “I’ll be back. Okay?”
“Yeah. Fine.” Brax tips the rest of the bag into his mouth, and I get the feeling it’s to cover his hurt at being left alone.
“I—” I stop myself before I say I promise. Promises are all too easy to back out of, and I don’t think Brax deserves that.
“See you soon,” I amend, then leave the dressing room.
Bathrooms are down the hall, the women’s even farther, taking me so long to find that I actually do have to use it once I push open the door and rush to a stall and lock it.
When I’m finishing up, the door creaks open again, and I recognize Jess’s voice.
“I know, Derek, I know,” she says as her heels sound against the tiles.
Through the crack in the stall, I see her set her purse on the sink and pull out her cosmetics bag as she nestles her phone between her ear and shoulder.
“No, I’m keeping Braxton out of the loop for now,” she says. Once she finds what she’s looking for, she looks up to the mirror and touches up her lipstick. “He’s unstable, unreliable, and here because of nepotism. It’s the trifecta of a bad idea. I can’t very well inform Braxton that Rex and Easton are leaving the band and expect him to keep his mouth shut to Mason.”
My fingers freeze on the lock to the stall.
“If Mason finds out,” she continues, “Der—Derek—listen to me. He’ll lose it. I’ve worked for Mason long enough to know he’ll walk off the tour, and we can’t afford that. Not if this is the last leg of our cash cow. It’s what’s good for him. Yes. What’s best. I’ll talk to Spinner as soon as I see—”
Through the mirror, I see Jess’s gaze lower and land on my shoes under the stall. I inwardly curse, thinking maybe I should’ve crouched on the toilet so I could’ve heard more.
“I have to go,” she says. “I’ll call you back at the hotel.”
Cringing, half of me is afraid to open the stall door. I stay put, warring with how to better phrase the question, “What the fuck is going on?” so I can actually elicit a truthful answer.
Jess sighs and says to the mirror, “It sucks, being the only woman on staff for so long. I got comfortable thinking the women’s bathroom was my own private conference room.” She clips her makeup bag shut. “But you’re not staff, are you, McKenna?”
Put on the spot, I have no choice but to shimmy out of the safety of the stall.
Jess turns so her hip is leaning against the sink. “But Mason’s paying you, so I guess you’re something. An important something, I’d say. A quarter million’s worth.”
Jess clucks her tongue as I step up beside her to wash my hands, pretending like I’m unaffected by what I overheard.
“Care to tell me why Mason’s paying you so much?” she asks.
I shake my head while running my hands under the sink. “It’s confidential.”
“That it is. I’m the one who wrote up the contract. Mason was incredibly tight-lipped about the whole thing, only gave me the bare bones.”
I want to squirm under Jess’s shrewd study, but I remind myself it was not my choice to be in the bathroom at this exact time and listen to information I shouldn’t be privy to.
“It made me want to do my own research on you,” Jess says.
I lift my gaze until it meets hers in the mirror.
“And what I found out…” Jess tucks her cosmetics bag in her purse before pulling the strap over her shoulder. “You really need this money.”
I keep my face blank and don’t break our stare-down. There’s no way she could know about Giles and the deal I struck with him. It’s like a mantra in my head: she can’t know she can’t know she can’t know that prevents even a flicker of emotion from showing.
“If you�
�re trying to intimidate me,” I say. “You need to do better than that. Who doesn’t want that kind of money?”
“You’re a difficult one to figure out. There isn’t much about you online, except for one small thing. I know about your father, McKenna.”
My hands freeze halfway to the paper towel dispenser. My brain jumps between relief that Giles isn’t mentioned and dread that my father is.
Jess says, “Mason’s too self-absorbed to ever consider looking into your past because he thinks he knows it already—but he doesn’t know shit, does he? As I was saying, you need the money. For your dad, your broken family, whatever you want to call it. So if I were you, I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that.”
I pull down a few paper towels, scrunch them between my hands, then toss them into the trash can on the side. It forces me to lean around Jess, who isn’t moving a muscle. Her brown eyes are trained on mine.
“Mason deserves to know what’s going on with his friends,” I say to her.
“You haven’t been around long, but it’s been long enough to notice Mason isn’t exactly at the top of his game,” Jess says. “He’s on a downward spiral, McKenna, and this news? Not only will it derail him, it’ll kill him. In his mind, this band is all he has. It’s the thing that pulled him out of Hell and made him famous. To be told it’s breaking up … well, I’ll leave it up to you whether or not you want to be the one to break him.”
“Guilting me won’t work, either,” I say. “How about just telling me the truth? Why are they leaving?”
“I don’t trust you enough to give you the truth, same way you don’t trust Mason enough to tell him what really happened to your family. And to you.”
I swallow a retort, the tang of Jess’s words bitter at the back of my throat. “What, so now I’m expected to walk around with this news and be Mason’s sidekick without telling him Rex and East want to dissolve the band? How can I be expected to do that? If he finds out I’ve kept it from him, he’ll—”
“You’re the one who signed the contract, not me.” Jess moves to the door, her expensive perfume splicing through the air. “And to finish your sentence, yeah, he’ll fire you, kick you off this tour, and leave you penniless. He’s vindictive like that.”
I have no doubts Jess is right. What I have trouble dealing with is the different faces of Mason. The mean one in high school who could go fuck himself for all I cared, or the benevolent rock star seen on glossy pages? What about the brother who would do anything for his sibling? And I can’t forget the man from three days ago, who kissed like he had to make up for ten years of leaving me behind.
Some were easier than others to dismiss. The problem is, which one would I be deceiving? Which one would I hurt by keeping this information to myself?
Lately, Mason is nothing but a jumble of contradictions. I’ve never hate-liked him more, but I can’t go back to the girl I was with him. That yellow-bellied, stupidly innocent, idiot child who never spoke up for herself.
Jess opens the Ladies’ door. “While guilt and blackmail may not work for you, you better do all you can to make sure he doesn’t find out until that cash hits your bank account, McKenna.”
I scrape my hair back from my forehead. “This may surprise you, but it’s not that black and white for me.”
Jess isn’t swayed. “You don’t give a shit about Mason. I’ve come across plenty of girls like you. You’re after the money. Remember that and it’ll be easier to lie to his face.”
The door smacks shut behind her.
17
McKenna
I don’t see Mason at school for a month.
Most of me is glad for it. Without their Bully King, his minions show less interest in me and move on to other things, like prepping for prom.
I’m able to focus on my studies without worrying about what’s being planned behind my back—or what’s about to hit my back if I don’t turn around. As such, I’m lowering my defenses.
Miss Lucas seems relieved at Mason’s absence, too. She hasn’t said anything to me about tutoring sessions. In fact, maybe my month of kept silence without Mason’s ominous shadow has proven to her that I’m good for my word, because while passing by me in class one day, she laid a manila envelope on my desk. While she was up front explaining the next assignment, I opened it and saw the reference letters she promised.
With only two months left of senior year, things are looking up.
If only I could shake the last image of Mason, cuffed, then dragged out of McDonald’s in an attempt to take the rap for his brother.
I wonder how he’s doing, if he’s been sent to juvie, under house arrest, or worse, beaten by his dad or sent to actual jail. The look on his face when he was carted away seemed to expect all of those things to happen.
Then I wonder why I care. Mason is horrible. Every time I show kindness, he wants me to choke on it. So why do I keep feeling the need to fill the emptiness behind his eyes? Why do I sense more pain in him than malice? It’s only going to hurt me by drawing more attention to myself—his attention.
Except, Mason may never be coming back.
A thick sense of disappointment settles on my shoulders as I take my seat in English class, later than intended this morning because I’d been quizzing my dad over breakfast and trying to glean information on Mason’s whereabouts. Dad, of course, gave me nothing.
The classroom fills up slowly, most students taking their time finding their seats and clustering in groups instead. Bits of conversation hit my ears, but I try to be invisible by opening up my paperback and quietly reading until the teacher comes in.
I’m so focused on the pages, I don’t register the hush of the room at first. Or the quiet scattering of bodies as space is made for someone to come in.
A person sits behind me and brings with them the scent of wildness—sweat, cold river water and earth-worn grass. A smell my nose reminds me I’ve been missing.
I turn, and find chipped iceberg eyes staring back at me.
Mason sits, his stare raking me from my waist up to my face, studying my body as if he owns it. He settles for a moment on my breasts, watching them rise and fall with anticipatory breaths. As if sparks are connected to his stare, tiny electric pings on my skin follow his attention up to my collarbone, scattering at my neck, before finally dispersing once he meets my gaze again.
“You’re back,” I say.
Mason taps his fingers against his desk, bringing nothing with him except a military jacket, ripped jeans, heavy black boots, and a vicious stare.
Dread creeps up my neck. Remembrance at what he’s capable of. All it’ll take is a nod to his girls, a murmur to his boys, and I’ll be back within their scope.
I spin around before he gets any ideas, hoping that his time away has been so harsh, he’s become tired of making my life miserable.
Hot breath hits my ear and I grip my desk.
Mason’s low voice follows, summoning the pings and turning the right side of my face and neck into electrical wires. “Janitor’s closet in the South Hall. You know where it is?”
I nod, afraid to speak.
“Meet me there.”
Is he out of his mind? I’d rather be lead to slaughter. At least then, I’d know what I’d be turning into.
His breathing doesn’t go away. “Say no, and I’ll tell Amy to get creative. You’ve had a lot of time off, Big Mack. There’s a lot to make up for, and I’m more than willing to orchestrate it. Unless, of course, you do as I say.”
I hold my book close to my chest, hating that I’m also closing my eyes in submission. The thought of more torment, the idea of inviting his torture again…
“Fine,” I whisper. “I’ll be there after class.”
“Good.”
Cold air seeps against my cheek when he draws back, and I resist the urge to hold my fingers to it and reclaim the warmth.
I didn’t pay attention for the rest of class, instead reeling over what Mason wants to say to me, or do, or threaten. T
ime doesn’t do me any favors and the clock ticks achingly slowly, as well as Miss Lucas’s lecture.
If she’s as affected as me by Mason’s reappearance, she sure is better at disguising it. She pays attention to me only once, a lingering, silent warning behind her expression, before getting back to her analysis.
I’m not frightened or threatened by you, I want to say to her. But I’m truly afraid of your beast.
The bell sounds and everyone is instantly on the move, banging books shut, re-starting conversations, finding their initial cluster of friends. Miss Lucas calls over the crowd to have our assignments in by Friday, but I’m scuttling to the door before she finishes her speech and sprinting through the hallway before the tidal wave of students begins.
I make it to the South Hall and the janitor’s closet, open the door and duck in before anyone notices. Because it’s such a small space, I leave the door ajar, and as people pass and see me idling in a broom closet, clutching my books to my chest, it doesn’t take a genius to know their echoing laughter is about me.
Nothing I’m not used to.
I chew on my lower lip, inwardly cursing Mason and his ability to make people wait even when it’s not necessary.
I should go. Just leave. Stay strong and not let him think he has any power—
A tall form fills the janitor’s doorframe before the door is pulled shut and I’m left in the dark.
The lock clicks and I’m left with my own breaths for company.
Instead of panicking—which I really want to do—I yell into the small space, “Really? Locking me in a closet so I miss my next class? That’s your next move?”
“No, Big Mack.”
Yelping, I stumble back, hitting metal shelving and sending toilet paper rolls bouncing off my head.
I can’t see a thing, yet I can sense him within inches of me, his body producing waves of hormones, charisma, power, dominance—I can name every poison.
Fumbling for balance, I press my palms against the metal shelving, creating divots in my back as I create as much space between us as I can in this black hole of ours.
Strum Me Page 11
