by Alex Hayes
Martini Man doesn’t spill a drop, but his eyes swing to the ceiling when the couple doesn’t stop going at it.
“God, you guys, get a room,” he drawls.
I bite my lip to stop laughing and swivel away as Shelby makes his return.
“Can’t beat the entertainment, huh?” He sips from the dark liquid in his glass and takes in the view.
Malcolm leaves and Idris heads over. “Did you see where Nicole went?”
Why do you care? I have to wonder.
Shelby flips his wrist toward a staircase. “She and some guy went thataway. I doubt we’ll see her for a while.”
Idris nods, showing no regret. “Guess I don’t need to say goodbye then.” He turns to me. “You ready to go?”
Having had my fill of this party scene, I nod, eager to head home.
The morning after the party, Idris and I head to the grocery store. Traffic seized up shortly after an ambulance breezed down the breakdown lane, siren blaring.
Idris lets the Beemer creep forward, his eyes focused on the vehicles ahead, but judging by his rapid finger taps—which might be playing beautiful music if the steering wheel were a baby grand—I figure his mind is far away.
He blinks and glances sidelong at me. “I told Max I’d rather produce ‘Won’t You Come Home to Me?’ myself. I’m not excited about handing the song over to someone else, but the movie people will probably want their own engineer involved.”
I hide my chuckle. Idris is a perfectionist and giving up control isn’t easy.
His hand slides through his top curls. “My bigger concern, though, is Cadi’s backup vocals.”
I shift my hips to ease the pressure on my rib cage. Sitting is the worst. I wish the tenderness would hurry up and heal. “What if she can’t do them?”
One of his shoulders lifts. “The song won’t be as good.” The traffic moves forward and he eases off the brake. “The resonance between our crystals keeps her in sync, and when we’re together, she hits the notes perfectly, as if she has perfect pitch.”
“So she’s borrowing yours?”
“Yeah, like I was hoping you could.”
I laugh. “Sorry about the total disaster on that front.”
His lips pucker. “I’m hoping it’ll still work with Cadi long distance.”
“You can sense her crystal now, can’t you?”
He nods. “Her emotions, too. She’s tired and a little melancholy, but overall happy.”
“So it makes sense your connection, even two and a half thousand miles away, will be strong enough.”
His fingers tighten over the steering wheel. “Yeah, but there’s only one way to find out. Test the theory. But Dad won’t be back for another week.”
“Maybe it’s time you got your mom and Cadi talking.”
He coughs out a laugh and slows the car again. “I’d feel better if I were there. What if Mom says something rude or sarcastic? Cadi’s pretty sensitive to criticism.”
“Don’t underestimate your fiancée, Idris. She might be sensitive, but Cadi won’t let herself be walked over. Besides, your mom must know anything she says to hurt Cadi will hurt you.” Literally, considering Idris would feel those emotions too.
He sighs. “Mom’s just pissed off.”
Which seems completely crazy. “Why?”
“Because she doesn’t understand the bonding thing. In her mind, our biological parents matched us up in some kind of arranged marriage, taking our choice away from us.” He pulls to a stop behind a FedEx truck and glances at me. “And sure, I get where she’s coming from, given arranged marriages happen here on Earth. But our relationship is not the same as a social contract between families.”
Idris drops his head against the back of the seat. “I’ve tried to explain about the twin crystals and how we were brought up together—or should have been. And, that Livran cultural practices focus on nurturing the bond and developing a solid loving relationship between bond mates from the start of their lives to the end.” He lets out a soft growl. “But she doesn’t seem to get it.”
“Probably because she wants you to be happy and not feel trapped.” I never had foster parents who cared enough about me to consider such things. Idris is lucky to have parents who love him, but I suspect they can sometimes care too much. “Maybe your mom needs to see the bond between you two in action.”
“Yeah. I’m hoping with the baby, Mom’ll want to be around more. I just wish there was something I could do to bring them closer.”
I throw him a smirk. “Maybe you need to let your Mom and Cadi work through this on their own.”
His phone rings. Idris glances at the on-dash screen. “Cadi.” He smiles. “Bet she sensed we were talking about her.”
Idris answers, patching the call through the car speakers. “Hey, babe. I’m driving and Rowan’s here.”
“Hey, you two.” Cadi huffs like she’s catching her breath. “How did the call with Max go?”
“Great, but how’re you feeling? You seem tired.”
She sighs. “I’ve been spending time in human form, hoping to adjust, but the further this pregnancy goes, the harder staying human is. I last about twenty minutes, then have to shift back.”
“Makes sense, though. The baby’s gotta be better off growing in, um…its natural form, right?”
“I think it’s… I mean, he’s a him,” Cadi says.
“Seriously?” Idris’s voice jumps an octave. “You can sense that?” His cheeks flush and his eyes double in size, as if knowing the baby’s gender has made the kid somehow more real to him.
“I’m not certain, but whenever I visit the ar’n bala tree, I get this feeling the crystal collective is communicating with a him.”
Idris waves his hands like something’s just occurred to him, then grabs the wheel again. “That’s how parents discover their kids’ abilities. I picked that up from Mr. Scrim’s memories. The collective recommends potential bond partners and assigns crystals to them. It’s all done telepathically. And it’s great, because I wouldn’t have a clue how to match our kid to another.”
“Maybe I should spend more time communing with the tree then,” Cadi says.
Not that there’ll be any matching to be made. At least, not until we can find the rest of the missing Livran bonded pairs. Could some of the others have found their bond mates and started making babies like Idris and Cadi?
The thought makes my stomach flip. What about my bond mate? I bite my lip hard. I can’t think about him, can’t let myself get worked up until I know what’s happened to his crystal and understand what’s happened to him.
Reminded of my sore ribs, I shift in my seat and loosen the strap across my waist and chest.
“So you met your idol last night?” Cadi’s voice rings with excitement. She must be getting her energy back.
“Yeah, Malcolm’s an amazing guy.” Idris drums his hands on the wheel. “He has perfect pitch too. His records were exactly in key, even back in the eighties. No auto tune required. He’s invited me to join him for lunch tomorrow at one of his hangouts.”
I slap his arm. “How come you didn’t tell me?”
His shoulders twitch in a slight shrug. “Didn’t want to make a big deal of it. Malcolm might not show, and I figured if I said too much, I might jinx the whole thing.”
“He’ll show up for you,” Cadi’s voice carries through the car speakers. “If he’s that amazing, he’ll know a good thing when he sees it. And you’re it.”
Idris laughs. “Thanks, babe. Wish you were here. You and Malcolm would get on great.”
“Of course, we would,” she almost shouts. “Because we both know you’re the best musician to hit Hollywood in a decade.”
After a long goodbye, Idris hangs up and sighs. “Life would be so much better if she were here.”
“Five more months,” I say with determination. “You’ll make it.”
His brow puckers. “It might be five months before we get out of this traffic. Must be a big
accident.”
A sudden tug makes me gasp and look up, but all I see is the car roof. “What in the world?”
“I felt that too. Conithar’s crystal?” Idris leans over the steering wheel and twists his head to look into the sky. “Can’t see anything.”
I rub my chest, feeling the stretch of the connection between my crystal and Con’s. “May be not, but I swear, he just flew over us.” Somehow.
13
Connell
By lunch time of the following day, the exhilaration over saving a child—a chubby three-year-old who fell from a second-story window—has faded.
Healing kids seems a much bigger deal. The same as losing a kid is.
I study the puffy white clouds drifting overhead. I may have to save a hundred children before I can let the loss of that little one in the child seat go.
Azera and I stand next to a chest-high blue dumpster in the shadow of a ficus tree within easy viewing of Café Gratitude, an upscale restaurant that’s all windows, wood and whitewashed walls. The kind of place that would leave my wallet so light it would float.
Thanks to an obscure tweet from an agency admin, we believe Tom Cruise is eating lunch here today.
While Azera scans the passing vehicles, I format the new SD card I slotted into my camera this morning and double check the ISO and F stop settings.
“Hey, Azera, how’s it going?” comes a voice over my left shoulder.
That damned Ryker is back. How’d he know we were here?
I catch Azera’s gaze as mine tightens into a frown.
She shrugs, then beams in the guy’s direction. She might not have told him we’d be here, but she looks way too pleased to see him.
Azera shifts to my side, and murmurs, “It’s kinda nice to be courted.”
“You mean stalked,” I mutter.
She ignores me and approaches Ryker. “What are you doing here?”
His gaze slides across my face as he moves to greet her. While they shake hands, he swings his back on me. “Thought I’d get a bite to eat. Care to join me?”
I resist the urge to cross my arms, eyes steering toward the natural white parasols leaning over fancy tables on the outside deck. “You can afford to eat at a place like this?”
Ryker turns a hair my way as he responds, “It isn’t every day I come upon the most talented female celebrity photographer in town.”
He misses my dramatic eye roll. Azera doesn’t, but she maintains the hard set of her mouth. Even her eyes have lost their usual dance, suggesting she’s pissed at me.
I shake my head. “That’s hardly a compliment, Az. You’re the only paparazza in town.”
She says to Ryker, “I’d love to join you.”
This time I do cross my arms. “Whose commission is paying for lunch, Ryker?”
The guy grins at Azera. “Why don’t we leave your little brother out here to catch whichever celebs you were waiting for?” He gestures her toward the restaurant, but before following, dips his head. “I’m sure he can handle it.”
I do a double take. His eyes glow with an intense violet light. I blink, but before I can squint for another look, his chin has lifted and he turns away. Must’ve been a trick of the light, a reflection off the inside of his shades or something.
They enter Café Gratitude and the glass door swings closed.
The minutes trickle by. Each time the light at the nearest intersection changes to green, I check my cell phone. Azera’s sure to warn me if anyone I need to photograph approaches the exit. Ryker actually did us a favor inviting her inside.
Of course, he may have his own schmuck waiting for a text.
I glance around but don’t spot anyone and wonder for the umpteenth time how Ryker found us. Azera wouldn’t tell him. And if he’d asked, she’d have lied.
With a father like hers, she’s damned good at lying. If she’d wanted to, she could’ve sent Ryker on a wild goose chase, easy.
Me, on the other hand, she hasn’t lied to since the first time I noticed bruises the size of fingerprints in a chain around her neck. “An accident,” she’d said.
Fact. A father cannot choke his kid by accident.
“That’s impossible,” I’d shouted. “Literally. Impossible. Don’t ever lie to me again.”
We agreed that day we were on the same side, and when you’re on the same side, you trust each other.
The light at the intersection turns green.
Three guys in suits leave the café, chatting about a Lakers game, as I check my phone. Nothing. But I knew that already. The device would have chimed.
A silver-gray BMW pulls up to the curb and a guy gets out. A guy I recognize. From somewhere.
A weird vibration rises from my chest.
He hasn’t reached the curb when the name Idris Williams flashes my head.
The guy who texted the most beautiful girl on the planet. The guy in the picture with her on Instagram. Yeah, with that silver-gray vehicle in the background.
Idris Williams doesn’t notice me.
Why would he?
I’m hanging out next to a blue dumpster in the shade of a ficus. I’m part of the scenery. Practically invisible.
He pulls a cell phone from his jacket pocket, glances at its screen and answers a call. “Hey, Rowan.”
I feel a tug similar to the one I felt with mystery girl, only not as strong.
Could she be in the neighborhood? Could the sensation be coming from his phone? Could he be talking to her right now?
“Another party tonight. Sorry.” Williams sighs. “Nicole invited me… Over at Ron Bradley’s place on East Ninety-Ninth. Why? You wanna come?” He laughs, deep and relaxed. “Nah, didn’t think so. She said there’d be a record producer I should meet. I couldn’t say no.”
Sure, you could.
This guy needs to learn that every night’s a party night in LA. This Nicole chick is probably making empty promises just to be seen with him.
Wait. Is there a chance Nicole is my girl?
My girl? I shake my head. What am I saying?
Williams hangs up the phone, but the vibration I’m feeling persists.
Guess I need to investigate further, find out who this Nicole girl is for starters. Which means I’m going to Ron Bradley’s house on East Ninety-Ninth tonight.
Williams pulls open the restaurant door and waits to let someone out. My phone buzzes. Before I can check the device, I catch sight of the guy exiting.
Tom Cruise.
I lift my camera and meet Idris Williams’ gaze. He shoots me a piercing stare as if he recognizes me. I hesitate.
My target celeb walks down the front steps. And I’m frozen.
Snatching my eyes from Williams, I focus on my target and hit the shutter release.
By the time I pull the camera from my face, Williams has disappeared into the restaurant.
I’ve another gig this afternoon, so further intel on Idris Williams will have to wait until tonight.
Azera steps out of the restaurant with Ryker fifteen minutes later. They part ways before she reaches me.
“I hope you posted my shots,” I say from behind a perma-frown.
“Yes, boss.” Her face holds no apology for abandoning me. “We got two-fifty for the headshot.”
I nod. Something to be happy about, at least.
The sun is well down by the time I squeeze my beat-up Taurus into a parking space a block from home. Traffic speeds by me as I grab my gear from the trunk. The sidewalks are wet from an afternoon rainstorm, and light from the streetlamps shines into the fading puddles. I saunter through the darkness, nodding to a lady with a stroller. She’s a single mom who lives in my building.
The woman ignores me but her two-year-old waves.
As I turn the corner and approach the apartment building entrance, a figure approaches from the opposite direction. “Hey, Connell. How’s it going?”
I recognize Jax’s soft-spoken voice before his features and give him a nod. “You staying out of tro
uble?”
A knowing smile creeps onto his face. “Yeah, man. I got a job and everything. Shipping and receiving. Working on my muscle.” He flexes a scrawny arm and grins. “Nothing too exciting, but once I get my license, I could transfer to deliveries.”
He’s a gangly kid about my age who made a bad choice that almost cost him his life.
“A job’s a job. A new start. You visiting your gran?”
He waves a bunch of flowers wrapped in a funnel of pink paper. “It’s her birthday.”
“And you remembered.” I enter the code and push open the door. “I’m impressed.” I tilt my head, gesturing him inside.
He steps through. “And only a day late.”
I groan inwardly. “Seriously?”
Jax shoves at my arm. “Nah, kidding. Today’s the day. I’m taking her out to dinner. There’s this Italian place two blocks up that I think she’ll like.”
I clap him across the shoulders. “You’re a good kid, Jax.”
He starts up the steps ahead of me. “You gave me a second chance. I won’t forget that. Maybe someday I can return the favor.”
I shake my head and grab the steel handrail, eyes skimming the stained carpet under my feet. “Pay it forward, man. Be a good grandson.”
When we reach the third floor, Jax grips my hand, then heads down the corridor, past walls freshly painted a glaring tangerine orange, toward his grandmother’s apartment.
Hard to believe I found him bleeding in the back alley four months ago. While I was treating him, he offered me his grand confession. Guess he thought he was going to die. Admitted to making a deal with some drug pushers across town, then changed his mind. He tried to back out and they shot him.
I mostly healed the gunshot wound, faked the fix with compresses and a bandage and sent him to the hospital.
The apartment is silent as I enter. I contemplate the possibility of seeing that girl tonight. The images in my mind—her pale features, blue-green eyes and auburn hair—haven’t faded one bit.