by Amity Cross
“Me?” Harry frowned. “What can I do?”
“It’s your dream to manage a band, isn’t it?”
He hesitated, his cheeks turning red. “Yeah, but…”
“I can’t make any promises, but I’ll make a push for you with Myers.”
Harry shot to his feet, causing Ziggy’s head to rise, and he began to pace back and forth, muttering under his breath.
“You’re not going to have a panic attack, are you?” I asked, watching him wear a hole into the deck.
“You have that kind of faith in me?” he asked, flapping his hands. “Me?”
“Of course. You’ve done a lot of shit for us over and above your pay grade. I know we discussed you working for our studio and charity, but that could be a long way from getting off the ground. There’s no reason why you still can’t make a push for the ultimate, right? If Galaxy says no, then you’ll always have a job with me and Juniper.”
Harry ran his hands over his face.
“The others will be behind you too. I know it. I’m going to talk to them and smooth things over,” I added. “Last time I saw them, Damon punched me in the face.”
“I can see the bruise, you know. I didn’t want to bring it up in case it was a delicate topic.”
I grunted. “See? You’re already better than Vix. She would’ve sunk the boot in.”
“Don’t remind me about her. I hate being in limbo with all that.”
“That’s the second thing holding us back. Myer’s doesn’t want us to leave the country until we know if the case is going to trial. Makes it hard to go on a European tour.”
“I’ll say.” His mouth curved into again and he sat back down. Reaching over, he roughed Ziggy up. “I can’t believe you want me!”
I laughed and ran my palm over Ziggy’s back. “It’s just a good word.”
“It’s further than I’ve ever gotten, so I’m taking it.”
My phone started to ring in my pocket and I retrieved it, shaking my head at his excitement. I couldn’t blame him, but he deserved to roll around in his achievement.
Checking the screen before I answered the call, I was surprised to find it was from the police station and not Juniper like I’d expected.
“Hello?”
“Sebastian? It’s Detective Halliday.”
“Detective,” I said. “This is an unexpected call. I hope it’s good news.” It was the day for new beginnings, and for once, it would be nice to have it snowball into other good shit. Fuck knows we needed it.
“I just wanted to personally let you know that Miss Victory has pleaded guilty to all charges laid against her.”
I straightened up. “She has?”
“She’s agreed to certain terms in exchange for a reduced sentence. I can’t disclose them all, but you and the other band members will see most of your money returned in due course. As the evidence was irrefutable, there is no need for a trial.”
“Justice has been served?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
I sighed and wondered why it felt so… hollow. Was there any punishment harsh enough for what she’d done? Or was mercy the right thing to do, even though she’d had none for her victims? I didn’t know, but the universe was evening out, at least a little.
“Thanks for letting me know,” I said. “I’ll let the others know. Is there anything else we need to do?”
“No. Just sit tight and wait for your lawyers to contact you. As far as we’re concerned, after a little bit of paperwork, it’s case closed.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“Thanks, Detective.” I hung up the call in a daze and stared out across the harbour. “Vix has pleaded guilty. She’s going to jail.”
“Serious?” Harry exclaimed.
“So says Detective Halliday.” I couldn’t believe it. After having her pull the strings for so long, it was unbelievable to think she was going be locked up. “I’ve got to call the guys. They’ll want to know. I can tell Juniper when she gets home from the hospital.” I scrolled through my contacts and wondered if I could make some kind of group phone call. Finally, something was going right.
“Uh, Sebastian?” Harry raised his eyebrows and went to hand me his phone. “Have you seen this?”
I caught sight of the familiar Stargazers logo and rolled my eyes. “I know the stories have started again, but it’s just old shit,” I argued, waving him away. “I know Mallory’s got an axe to grind, but she’ll get bored soon enough. She always does.”
“Uh, it’s not that…” He shoved his phone at my face and I snatched it from him.
“What is it?” As I scanned the headline, I froze.
No…
15
Juniper
The one thing about St. Vincent’s hospital was that is smelled exactly the same as I remembered it. Lemon, antiseptic, and that sickly-sweet scent whose source I could never work out.
Two months after the attack, and one month after going home, I was back for my scheduled check-up.
It was an all-day affair with CT and MRI scans—both big tubes that felt like I was being shoved into a rocket launcher—blood and urine tests, an ultrasound on my abdomen, perception and physical therapy examinations, a stress test, and finally, a meeting with Dr. Lindsey to go over all the results.
I was exhausted by the time I finally sat down in his office housed in the consulting suites of the hospital.
He had all kids of pictures on his computer screen—the scans of my abdomen, chest, and head—and had been peering at them through the glasses that sat on the tip of his nose.
“Are they mine?” I asked.
“They are,” he replied. “They’re quite extraordinary, don’t you think? We can look right into your brain and see what’s going on.”
“Cool.” I raised my eyebrows. “I don’t have to come back for the results?”
“No. I asked for the lab to rush them for us, otherwise, it’d be another two weeks.”
I frowned. “That’s nice, but it can’t be fair for the other people waiting.”
“Someone of your notoriety can’t be kept waiting. Besides, if these got into the media’s hands…, It’s just safer this way.” Dr. Lindsey smiled knowingly, then turned to the papers on his desk. “Your scans are as expected,” he went on. “There’s no residual scarring on your internal organs. There’s always going to be some, but none that we have to worry about. You’ll still be able to have children. I foresee no issue there.”
I tensed. “What about my brain?”
“Have you been feeling any pain, nausea, or confusion?”
“No. I was having headaches when I first went home, but I haven’t had one for a while now.”
“That’s to be expected after brain surgery. The MRI was clear and so was the CT.”
“So, I’m fine?”
“It appears you’re in the clear, Miss Rowe.” He smiled and shuffled the papers to the side. “It’ll take time to regain the strength you had before your accident, but you’ll make a full recovery. You just have to keep an eye on those incisions. Flare ups can still happen.”
I loved how he referred to being attacked as my ‘accident’. I supposed he didn’t want to offend or bring up any undue discomfort.
“Physically, I’m very pleased with how you’re doing. Your incisions have healed nicely. How’s everything else?”
I shrugged. “Fine.”
“Emotionally, I mean.”
“Life is okay. It’s always going to be difficult with Sebastian being who he is, but we’re figuring out how to deal with the attention from the press. We’ve been able to keep most of my recovery private.”
His brow furrowed. “And how are you dealing with the loss of—”
“It’s no big deal,” I interrupted. “It happened and that’s it. It happened.”
“Juniper, it’s normal to feel detached from an unknown pregnancy.”
I was really starting to feel unco
mfortable. “How…?”
“I’ve been doing this a long time,” he said with a shrug. Leaning back in his chair, he studied me for a moment. “Have you thought about going to therapy? It can be a great way to let out some of the things you’re worried about.”
“I… I can’t do that,” I said hurriedly. “I’ve never…”
“It’s one hundred percent confidential, and you can talk about other things, too. If you like, I can give you a referral. You don’t have to do anything with it, but it’s there if you change your mind.”
“Sure. I guess…”
I waited as Dr. Lindsey typed on his keyboard and printed out a letter. He signed the bottom, folded the paper into thirds, and then slipped it into an envelope. Handing it to me, he offered a reassuring smile.
“Everything’s going to be just fine,” he said. “I’d like you to come back in a month to see the doctors in outpatient so they can check your incisions, but no more scans for six months, okay?”
“Sounds good to me.” I took the letter and slipped it into my bag. Out of sight, out of mind. “Thanks, Dr. Lindsey. Until next time.”
I went to walk from the room, but the doctor had one last nugget of wisdom to impart.
“Juniper?” I turned. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve got enough pressure on your shoulders without all that.”
I smiled, hoping he was right. “Thank you.”
Statfield was outside in the waiting room where I left him.
The woman seated across from him was fluttering her eyelashes and checking out the muscles bulging out of his short-sleeved shirt, but he was too busy watching for me to notice. When I appeared, she glanced at me and visibly deflated.
“Ready to go?” he asked, holding out his hand.
I nodded and allowed him to guide me from the consulting suites, his palm pressing protectively against the small of my back.
“That woman was making eyes at you,” I said with a smirk, “and you didn’t even notice.”
“What woman?”
“Sitting across from you in the waiting room.” He flushed, and I began to laugh. “You’re too attentive, Shades. Aren’t you interested in getting some?”
“It’s been a while since you’ve called me Shades,” he quipped.
I waggled my finger at him. “Stop avoiding the subject.”
“Just let me drive you home.”
I sighed as we emerged into the underground car park. “You’re no fun.”
When I was safely tucked away in the back of the car, Statfield reversed out of the park and began to weave his way out of the lot. “How were your results?”
“Great,” I replied, thinking about what Dr. Lindsey had said. “The scars won’t fade, but at least everything else is A-Okay. I’ve just gotta get my strength back to where it was, and I’m all good.”
“That’s great news, Miss Rowe.”
“You know I don’t like it when you call me that,” I scolded him. “Call me Juniper or you’re fired.”
I caught the sound of his low chuckle and grinned. I really liked Statfield. He was a great guy, good at his job, handsome, and level-headed. It seemed as if he was finally at peace with what happened on Christmas eve and I was glad. I’d reward him with helping him swipe the right direction on a dating app or two, but it seemed like he wouldn’t welcome the help.
As we emerged from the gloomy car park and onto the street, my phone buzzed with a message. That reminded me, I had to call Vanessa and give her the good news and when I got home, Sebastian would hopefully be there waiting.
It was a text from an unknown number with an image attachment. I didn’t have to open it to see the tabloid article. I was front page news, again. Because I couldn’t help myself, I opened the message. My hands shook, and the world began to spin as I scanned the images from the latest edition of Stargazers.
A picture of me leaving the hospital with Sebastian was printed on the cover with the neon yellow headline: Juniper Rowe’s Horrifying Loss! Her Baby and the Attack That Stole it From Her… The words seared into my retinas and I felt like I was going to be sick.
The article was much worse. Sources close to the couple say Juniper was allegedly glad the pregnancy was aborted. “She didn’t want the baby,” our contact confirmed. “She wasn’t ready for fame, so how could she be ready for motherhood?”
I was shaking. Rage and humiliation threatened to overwhelm my common sense and it was all I could do not to throw my phone across the car.
“Juniper?” Statfield asked, frowning at me in the rearview mirror. “Are you okay? Do you want me to pull over?”
He thought I was going to hurl in his ultra-clean car.
“No. I want to go home. Please just take me home…”
He nodded sharply and weaved through traffic, dodging slow moving trucks and cars. Before long, we were pulling into the driveway of the McMansion and into the safety of the garage.
I shoved the door open and bolted inside, my entire body a ball of emotion.
“Sebastian!” I shouted, powering through the McMansion to the kitchen. “Sebastian!”
He opened the sliding door, Ziggy powering into the house behind him. “You saw it,” he murmured, his complexion ashen.
“Some unknown number sent it to me personally,” I fumed. “Someone’s still fucking with us. With me! Did you read it?”
He nodded and swallowed hard.
“How did they know?” I asked as Ziggy circled at my feet. “Someone had to have leaked it.”
“It could’ve been anyone. Someone at the hospital maybe?”
The words in the article swarmed around my head like a mob of angry bees, stinging and biting. Everyone would have an opinion and wouldn’t shy away from telling me. It’d be exactly like the sex tape and back when Sebastian and I first got together. There’d be trolls and death threats… How dare she not want that baby? How dare she…
“I’m a monster and now everyone knows it.” A cry burst from my lips, and my knees buckled. Sebastian caught me in his arms, but I was beyond saving. “I didn’t want this. I didn’t want any of it.”
“I know you didn’t.” He carried me to the couch where he sat me in his lap and wound his arms around me.
“What did I do?” I sobbed, clutching his T-shirt. “What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I connect with it? Why?”
“Nothing’s wrong with you, Juni,” Sebastian said fiercely. “You did nothing and you’re perfect, you hear? Perfect. You’re human, just like them.”
“No one’s perfect,” I argued.
“It’s jealousy. Pure fucking jealousy. No one knows our story, or yours, but you and I.”
“What do I do? I just want it to go away…”
“Nothing,” he replied. “We do nothing. It’s none of their business. The only people allowed to have an opinion about our loss is you and I.”
Someone was hell-bent on destroying me and all signs pointed to Mallory Grigorio. I hoped I was wrong, because I didn’t want to be pulled down to her level. If we just weathered all the bad press, then maybe it’d just go away. Maybe everything would leave me alone.
But even I knew that was wishful thinking.
16
Sebastian
I held Juniper close. Anger seared through my veins the more I thought about the story in Stargazers.
I’d had some awful shit written about me in the past—allegations of brawling, property damage, various sexcapades, wild drug-fuelled parties—but this was a new level of invasive. I could weather all of those other things, but the loss of our baby? Fuck, the vultures never knew when to stop picking, did they?
Though, one good thing had happened today.
“Vix made a deal with the cops,” I said. “She pleaded guilty to all charges in exchange for a shorter jail sentence.”
“Wait… She was sentenced?”
“Yep.” It was great news, but it seemed hollow now.
“So, no trial?”
“No trial.
We’re getting most of our money back, too.”
“Sebastian, that’s great.” She tried to look excited, but she was so deflated over the article that her attempts were lacklustre. Honestly, I couldn’t blame her.
“See? Sometimes we win shit.”
Her lips curved into a wry smile. “One down…”
My phone dinged with a message and I glanced at the screen. “One to go.”
Another article had been published and this time, Josh had sent it to me. I hadn’t even had a chance to tell the guys about Vix before all this had come out.
Have you seen this bullshit?
I opened the link and snorted. Solace in Another Man’s –Arms—Is the Fairytale Over? Beside the headline was a paparazzi photograph taken that afternoon of Juniper hugging Stewie outside Haze Studios.
She’d been reading over my shoulder and let out a frustrated cry. “Are you fucking kidding me?” she exclaimed, snatching my phone from my hands. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take!”
“I bet Stewie likes the free publicity,” I drawled. He had a reputation, but who didn’t in the music business? Who knew if it was true.
“I didn’t seek anything,” she sobbed. “It wasn’t anything like that. It was just an innocent hug. People do it all the time.”
“I believe you,” I said. “I trust you, Juniper. Above all else, I trust you, okay?”
She nodded. “It’s just hard enough to be reminded of being attacked every single day, and now this?”
There was nothing more I wanted to do than make Juniper happy, but I didn’t know if there was a way we could stop Stargazers and the other tabloids from running their stories. They made their money from printing gossip, so why would they bother seeking out the true story? Fiction was often more exciting than fact.
“Your scars?” I asked with a frown.
She nodded. “They’ll always be there, reminding me of what I lost. What we lost.” Her gaze met mine and her anguish broke my heart. “And now everyone’s talking about us.”
“Your scars aren’t a reminder of that,” I countered. “They’re a reminder of your strength.”