Royal Disaster #5

by Renna Peak

  He groans, burying his face into the pillow before he turns and props himself up on his elbow. “You came back.”

  “We’re married.” I pause, staring down at him. “And my clothes are in this room, so I had little choice.”

  He chuckles for a second, and then lifts his hand to his forehead, rubbing at his temple. “I have to stop doing this.”

  “I agree.”

  “I’m not a drunk, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He winces as he sits up more fully. “I just…got drunk. There’s a difference.”

  “You drink to avoid dealing with your feelings. It’s a…what do you call it? Slippery slope?” I nod. “A slippery slope if you have to get drunk every time there are any emotions involved in your life.”

  “You don’t understand…” He rubs at his forehead again. “It’s not to avoid feelings…” He groans. “You know what? Never mind. We should just pretend last night never happened. Go back to the way things were.” He gives me a weak smile, sliding an arm around my waist.

  I pull away, grabbing him by the wrist. It would be far too easy to let him get away with not speaking to me about Kayla, and it would probably only take one of those looks for me to let it happen. There’s really nothing I’d like more than to forget everything, too. But he told me, and now we have to deal with it.

  “How’s your dad?” He pulls his hand back, giving it a small shake. “Any news?”

  “So when you can’t seduce me to change the topic, you try to do it by bringing up an emotional subject for me?” I shake my head. “Why?”

  “I’m…” His brow furrows. “Look, I’m genuinely concerned about your father. But you’re right, I’m also changing the subject.”

  “He’s fine. Well, not fine, but the same. They’re monitoring him.” I frown at him for a long moment. “Can we please talk about Kayla? Victoria was able to—”

  “You went to Victoria. Of course you did.” He shakes his head. “I should have known—”

  “You told me to go to her. What did you think I would do? Sleep with your bandmates?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time a woman had.” He sighs. “I just…I can’t right now. My head is throbbing—”

  “Because you got drunk the second I left.” I look over at the collection of empty miniature bottles on the nightstand. “I’m concerned about your drinking, Pax.”

  “You’re not my mother, okay?” He rakes a hand through his hair. “And besides, there’s nothing wrong with going on a little bender now and then. Helps to clear the head.”

  “It does the exact opposite of clearing your head, and we both know it. It’s how we ended up married.”

  “Good point. You know, if you want to undo that, it won’t be that hard.” His gaze narrows. “Maybe we should. Since you think I’m an alcoholic and all.”

  “I don’t…” I shake my head, letting out a long sigh. “I don’t think anything of the sort, Pax. I only said I was concerned about you. And that we need to discuss this whole Kayla situation.”

  “There’s no situation. She’s dead. I killed her. And if you can’t get that through your head, I don’t know what to tell you.”

  “Victoria thinks—”

  “I don’t give a fuck what Victoria thinks.” He slides off the bed and starts to pace back and forth at the end of it. “I should have known you wouldn’t understand.”

  “You haven’t let me get a word in. You haven’t even let me ask—”

  “Because I don’t want you to!” He stops abruptly, turning to me. “What more could you possibly need to know?”

  I don’t answer right away. The last thing I want is to have this conversation escalate into an argument. Pax is already upset enough. “I just want you to tell me what happened. In your own words.” I try to keep my voice as even as possible, not wanting to distress him even more. “I read the article about that night. You were the man who was with her… You survived.” I shake my head, trying to clear the emotion I can feel welling up inside me at the words. “Victoria read it, too. She thinks—”

  “I already said I don’t care what she thinks.” His voice is low, almost broken. “No one really knows what happened that night.”

  Pax

  I knew she wouldn’t understand. No one ever really does. Even my bandmates, who know as much of the story as anyone, don’t seem to get it.

  Why do women always want to fucking talk about everything? Why do they think talking makes anything better? It’s better to just get on with your life, to let sleeping dogs lie. It’s the only way some of us can get through the day.

  When I look at Sophia, though, when I see the way she’s looking at me, something shifts. There’s something in her expression—something pleading, longing—that makes me want to give her exactly what she wants.

  “Sophia…”

  A loud knock sounds on the door before I go on. I curse as the sound reverberates through my skull.

  “It’s too fucking early for this shit,” I say, clutching my head.

  The knock sounds again.

  “Pax!” calls Charlie. “Pax, you need to come see this.”

  “Don’t you know what fucking time it is?” I call back as I stumble to the door. As I pull it open, I add, “I’m kind of in the middle of something important, here.”

  Charlie, for once, doesn’t have a grin on his face. “Sorry to interrupt, but I think you’ll want to see this.”

  “See what?”

  “Put on some shoes. Rider thinks I’m jumping to conclusions, but we both agreed you’d know best of all.”

  “I’d know what? Jumping to conclusions about what?” I twist around, looking for my shoes.

  “Hey, Sophia,” Charlie says, only a little more cheerfully. “You might want to stay up here.”

  “Now you’re just being a fucking idiot,” I mumble, finally finding my shoes. “Sophia and I are married now. There’s no reason she shouldn’t see whatever the hell it is you’re talking about.”

  Charlie shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

  I glance at Sophia, and she’s looking between the two of us, an expression of confusion on her face.

  “Don’t look at me,” I say. “I have no idea what the hell is going on here.” Part of me is relieved, though, that we can put off talking about Kayla a little longer.

  Sophia and I follow Charlie out of the room and to the elevators.

  “So when are you going to tell me where we’re going?” I ask him as we ride the elevator down.

  “We’re going to the tour bus,” he says. “I forgot something on there yesterday, so I went by this morning to grab it.” He glances at Sophia. “Word of your wedding spread fast.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “You’ll see. Maybe it has nothing to do with anything at all.”

  I rub my head. “It’s too early and I’m too hung over for this cryptic shit, Charlie.”

  “I told you, I just want to make sure I’m not jumping to conclusions. I’ve already alerted Mick—he should still be at the bus. He was the one who told me to come find you. Warned me that you might be a little touchy this morning.”

  “I’m sure he fucking did,” I grumble.

  We finally reach the lobby. Our hotel isn’t far from the arena—where the bus is parked—so Charlie leads us outside. I groan at the blinding sunlight, cursing at myself for forgetting to grab some sunglasses.

  “Here,” Charlie says, handing me his. “You’re getting old, Pax. You didn’t used to be this whiny every time you had a hangover.”

  “Go fuck yourself,” I say, giving him the finger as I slide on his sunglasses. I wish he would just fucking tell me what’s going on. The fact that he’s being so secretive and weird about this is starting to freak me out. What the hell could be so important that he needs to drag me down to the tour bus at this hour? Is something wrong?

  But then it hits me—maybe this is all just a big joke. The guys really wanted to throw me a bachelor party when they f
ound out I’d gotten married, but I didn’t have the time—Sophia and I had to go tell our families about what we’d done before the press found out. But now I’m back, our families know, the secret is out…which means it’s the perfect time for a little celebration. And throwing me a surprise bachelor party is exactly the sort of thing my bandmates would do. I might have some complaints about the time, but given our busy tour schedule, they probably just had to think outside the box. And it’s never too early for strippers.

  I grin. Now I know why Charlie didn’t want Sophia to come, but also why he couldn’t really argue for why she shouldn’t. I hope they haven’t done anything too crazy—but who knows. Maybe Sophia might enjoy watching some strippers. I’m not one to judge a girl for being open-minded.

  I’m fantasizing about a stripper giving Sophia a lap dance when we round the corner and our tour bus and trucks come into view. There’s also a police car parked right next to the bus.

  My smile widens. Sexy cop stripper? I’m totally here for that.

  I glance at Charlie, expecting him to shout “Surprise!” or something, but there’s still a grim look on his face. Maybe he’s just waiting until we reach the others.

  As we near the bus, though, I get a sinking feeling in my stomach. That looks like a real cop car, not a fake one. And the paunchy, middle-aged, male officer talking to Mick is definitely not a stripper. I hope.

  “What the hell is going on?” I ask. “What happened?”

  “Look at the bus,” Charlie says.

  Now I see it. Someone has spray-painted words on the side, right over our band logo: Die Montovian whore. Pax is mine.

  Sophia’s hand tightens in mine.

  “How the fuck did that happen?” I demand. “Where the fuck was our security team?”

  “None of them saw anything,” Charlie says. “We’re still trying to figure out how she got past them. And this side of the bus can’t be seen from the arena’s security cameras.”

  I glance down at Sophia. “Maybe you should go back to the room.”

  She shakes her head. “It’s just some graffiti. I’ve had worse said to my face.”

  But that’s just it—this might not just be graffiti. I suddenly realize what Charlie meant when he was talking about ‘jumping to conclusions’ and how I might ‘know best of all.’

  “You think it’s her, don’t you?” I say quietly.

  Charlie gives a single nod. “It’s her M.O. Same purple spray paint.”

  “Purple spray paint isn’t that unusual,” I say.

  “Most of your fans aren’t sneaky enough to pull this off without getting caught.” He cocks his head toward me. “And most of them don’t have restraining orders that recently expired.”

  “She wouldn’t be that stupid.”

  He laughs, but it’s bitter. “Are you fucking serious? Of course she would. She’s fucking obsessed.” He looks at Sophia. “And you’ve just made her angry.”

  “Who?” Sophia asks. “Who’s angry?”

  I swallow, not wanting to believe it, even though the evidence is right in front of me. I knew my marriage to Sophia would piss off some of my fans, but I didn’t think it all the way through. “My stalker.”

  Sophia

  I’m not sure what to think, but my skin crawls at the knowledge that some woman is watching my every move.

  I turn to Pax. “Is this the person responsible for the sex tape?”

  Charlie laughs. “She’d only put out a sex tape if it was of herself and Pax.” He cocks his head. “You didn’t make a tape when you slept with her, did you?”

  Pax shifts uncomfortably beside me. “No. I—”

  “You had a relationship with this woman?” I motion toward the crudely painted letters on the side of the bus. “You actually—”

  “I wouldn’t call it a relationship.” Charlie gives another bitter laugh. “Let’s just say that Pax wasn’t always so careful about which groupies he hooked up with.”

  “Funny.” Pax glares at Charlie for a moment before turning back to me. “It was a rebound thing. It turned into…” He motions at the graffiti on the bus. “Something else.”

  Mick walks up to join our small group. “We’ll need to have twenty-four hour security until we catch her. And I’ll start the paperwork to get the restraining order reinstated.”

  “She spray-painted the bus.” Pax shakes his head. “I don’t really think security guards—”

  “It’s a death threat, Pax.” Mick growls the words. “A pretty obvious one.”

  “Fine.” Pax rolls his eyes. “It’s just—”

  “And you two are off the bus for the time being.” Mick folds his arms across his chest. “You’ll fly to Austin for the next concert. And we’ll have you in a different hotel than the rest of the band. If we—”

  “We can’t do that.” Pax frowns. “It’s been bad enough, Mick. The guys are already going to hate me for this—”

  “No one’s going to hate you for anything.” Charlie takes a step closer to Pax. “We all know what a sick fuck she is. It isn’t like you created her.” Charlie nods in Mick’s direction. “I’ll let the guys know.” He turns back to Pax. “You two should get somewhere safe. She obviously knows you’re here.”

  “Charlie’s right.” Mick gives Pax a long stare. “We’ll get you into a new hotel. And get some security posted for you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Charlie grins at Pax.

  “I’m welcome?” Pax glares at him. “For what?”

  “The extended honeymoon.” Charlie laughs before turning back to Mick. “Someone needs to get this shit cleaned off the side of the bus before we go, too.”

  Mick rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “I’ll get right on that.” He turns back to Pax and me. “You two are with me. We’ll send back for your things later.”

  We follow Mick to his car, and Pax helps me into the back, sliding in after me. “So where are you taking us, boss?”

  “I have no idea.” Mick taps on his phone for a few moments before he starts to drive. “Somewhere out of the way. And discreet.”

  “Sounds like a perfect honeymoon,” Pax grumbles, slumping against the seat. “Why’d she have to come back now?”

  “That’s a rhetorical question, right?” Mick looks at him through the rearview mirror. “Because you already know the answer to that one.”

  Pax folds his arms across his chest and stares out the window, shaking his head. “You’d think she could get a life. It isn’t like I didn’t make it pretty obvious—”

  “You slept with her. For some people, that’s all it takes. A one-night stand turns into a lifetime obsession. We talked about it before you guys started, remember? You chose not to heed the warnings.”

  “So you do blame me for it,” Pax growls. “That means everyone else does, too.”

  “I don’t blame you for anything. Just asking you to take a little responsibility for creating that monster. That’s all.” Mick gives him a weak smile through the mirror. “It’s always good to take responsibility for everything that happens in your life. Even if it’s—”

  “Even if it’s a stalker?” Pax interrupts. “Because I sure as shit didn’t invite her into my life.”

  “Not like this, maybe.” Mick shakes his head. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be trying to bestow life lessons on you in the middle of this.”

  “Damn right, you shouldn’t.” Pax turns to me. “Can you believe this shit?”

  “You did sleep with her though, didn’t you?” I tilt my head. “I mean, I’m sure you didn’t intend for this to happen. But you do bear some responsibility, right?”

  “Now you, too?” Pax shakes his head. “How many times do I have to say that I did not want any of this?”

  I reach for his hand. “I don’t think that’s the point at all. Mick is just saying—”

  Pax yanks his hand away from mine. “You don’t understand, either.”

  Mick sighs, shaking his head but not saying anything.

  “Why
don’t you explain it to me then, Pax?” I turn my body to more fully face him. “Explain everything to me.”

  “I…” He frowns, glaring at me for a moment. “I can’t.” He turns to look out the window, effectively ending the conversation.

  I let out a long breath, turning to stare out my own window. We’re heading outside of town, and the farther we travel, the more the scenery changes to what I remember of seeing of Arizona in photographs. The land is flat and brown with an occasional patch of scrubby bushes. I can’t imagine where we might be going, but I doubt it will be a five-star resort.

  After a long, awkwardly silent trip, we finally pull up to a shabby building. There’s a dusty sign out front missing its first letter, but there’s no doubt at all that even though it reads ‘otel’, the missing letter is not an H.

  We slide out of the car, and Mick turns to face us. “Sorry kids. But this is the best I can do on such short notice.”

  Pax’s jaw drops open and he stares at the building.

  Mick’s lips turn up into the slightest of smiles. “Happy honeymoon.”

  Pax

  I stare at the dingy room where we’ll be staying.

  I guess it could be worse. There could have been a dead body shoved in the closet. Or rats in the corners. Or mysterious stains all over the bed. We should consider ourselves lucky that the only things we really have to complain about are peeling wallpaper and a stringy carpet. Of course, that doesn’t mean the owner isn’t a serial killer. I find myself glancing around the room, searching for cracks through which someone could spy on us. Or maybe a small camera wedged somewhere. Sophia and I have already had one video go viral—I don’t plan on letting that happen again.

  I’m not a snob, really. The guys and I stayed in places a lot worse than this when we were starting out. But after a while, you get used to comfort and luxury. Is it so wrong to want a TV that works and a bed that doesn’t sink in the middle when you sit down on it?

  All this because of Abby. I rub the bridge of my nose. I was an idiot to think that psycho was out of my life. I should have known that all this stuff with Sophia would bring her back out of hiding.