Fractured Beat (Meltdown Book 1)

by RB Hilliard

  As Hank turned it off, I heard my mom say, “Grant? Are you there Grant?”

  “I’ll call you back,” I told her before hanging up. My phone immediately rang again and I sent the call to voicemail. Then I stood from the bed and flung open the bathroom door. Mallory wasn’t there. I hit the closet next. Just as I’d feared, it was empty. Mallory was gone. “Fuck!” I shouted.

  “What they didn’t say is how she paid for all three of those people’s hospital bills,” Hank quietly stated.

  I turned to him and asked, “Who did this?” My phone rang again. This time I shut the fucker off.

  “And she paid for the lady’s rehab,” he continued, “for years.”

  “Who the fuck did this?” I repeated.

  Hank’s phone rang, but he ignored it. “To this day she is still paying that family for the wrong she did them,” he added.

  “Tell me who fucking did this!” I shouted.

  “Don’t do this, Grant,” Hank warned.

  “Do what? Find out who fucked with my girl and make them pay? Find out who made her run? Why shouldn’t I?” I shouted. His phone rang a second time. Again, he sent it to voicemail.

  A confused look appeared on his face. “Wait, you’re not angry with her?”

  What the hell was he talking about? “Why would I be angry with her? She has nightmares about that shit almost every night. She went to rehab. She got clean and paid her dues. Fuck, she became a drug counselor for shit’s sake. Why would I be mad at her? I’m mad at the person who’s trying to fuck with our lives. That’s who I’m mad at!”

  When his phone rang a third time, Hank answered, “What?” His eyes immediately jerked to mine and I braced. “We’re in room 1302,” he said. After a brief pause he said, “Just me and Grant,” followed by, “see you in a few.” He hung up and advised, “Blane is on his way up.

  “This has Kirkland written all over it. He knows we’re onto him and he’s fighting back.”

  “Grant –”

  I could hear the doubt in Hank’s voice. Fuck him. It wasn’t his life being blown to hell, it was mine. “First he fucks with her room, and then he fucking tells my parents everything…and does it in front of Mallory.” As I paced back and forth in front of the bed I thought about everything that happened the night before.

  “What if it wasn’t Kirkland?” he quietly asked.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Think about it. It could have just as easily been Chelle. She certainly has the motive and the resources to pull something like this off.”

  He had a point but I wasn’t buying it. “It was Kirkland,” I asserted.

  “Or what about the girl from last night, you know, the one from Mallory’s hometown? I bet she knows all about Mallory’s past. How do you know she didn’t sell her story to the highest bidder?”

  I stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. “What the fuck?” I asked.

  “Blane is going to be here any minute. Before you go off half-cocked, you need to think about it. You think it’s Kirkland and I think it’s Kirkland but are you willing to bet your career on it? I’m just trying to make you see the other possibilities. Until we can prove it was Kirkland, it wasn’t. Do you get me?”

  A knock at the door interrupted us. Hank shot me a look of warning before he opened the door. Blane stepped over the threshold looking like shit. His usually styled hair was a mess and his suit looked as if he’d slept in it. He was carrying a large manila file folder. My chest seized. Holy fuck, he did it.

  As Hank shut the door and flipped the lock, Blane headed straight for the bed. Once he got there he slapped the file down on top of the comforter and declared, “It’s all here, every last bit of it, and I want a deal.”

  “First, tell us what’s in the file.” Hank said.

  Blane flipped open the file and explained, “Here’s all of the correspondence with Whitfield. Trust me, you’ll be pleased. There’s an email where Whitfield says you’re not an addict, and another one among Dad, Whitfield and Nancy directing Nancy to do whatever it takes to keep you there. In addition there are bank statements showing sizeable payments to Dr. Whitfield and Nancy, all made to their personal accounts. Kirkland Hamilton is a stupid man, I thought. I could tell by Hank’s facial expression he thought the exact same thing. It was one thing to do the deed, but another to keep records of it. Dumb fucker. “There are also copies of emails to me from Dad directing me to hire an in-house drug counselor. As you will see by these, I had no idea what he was up to.” He flipped through a few more things and said, “That’s it.”

  “What about the drugs? Hank asked.

  “And Sarah Harmon?” I added.

  “I went through everything. There was nothing about drugs. Believe me, I looked,” he told Hank. Then he asked, “Who is Sarah Harmon?”

  “You didn’t see that name anywhere?” I asked.

  “No, why?”

  Hank shook his head at me so I played it off. “Her name came up. We wondered if Kirkland knew her.”

  “Not that I know of. At least her name wasn’t in any of his emails or financial records. You’ll see. They’re all right here.” He straightened his shoulders and said, “I delivered. Now I want to make a deal.”

  I still didn’t trust Blane and I didn’t plan on trusting him until his name was completely cleared, but he didn’t have to know this. “Talk,” I said.

  “When you present Dad with this evidence he’s going to know it was me who betrayed him. I want a guaranteed position with Happenstance once you take it over.”

  “I’m good with that.” Blane closed his eyes and let out a sigh of relief.

  “Is that all?” Hank asked.

  He opened his eyes back up and said, “No. I want you to promise not to send Dad to prison.”

  “That, I can’t do,” I told him.

  “Think about it, if you press charges you’ll invite a massive scandal. You’ll have to pay lawyer fees and break tour dates for court appearances. It’s not worth it.”

  Fuck that. “Kirkland has to pay,” I stated.

  “So make him pay. Threaten him, scare the shit out of him, take Happenstance away from him and make him sign binding legal documents stating he’ll never step foot in the industry again. Just don’t press charges.” I hated to admit it, but he had a point. Did I want Kirkland to pay? Yes. Did I want to pay with him? If it meant we had to miss tour dates and spend day after day in a courtroom, we all would pay. I wasn’t sure it was worth it.

  “Let us look this over first before we make a decision,” I finally said. Blane nodded in relief and turned to leave. “Blane,” I called out. He glanced over his shoulder at me. “Do you know who fucked with Mallory last night? Was it Kirkland?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered.

  “If you hear anything –”

  “I’ll tell you,” he answered before I could finish.

  “Stay close,” I told him. He gave me a nod and then was gone.

  “Do you think he’s telling the truth?” I asked Hank.

  “Who the hell knows anymore?” he answered, and added, “I’m going to get the file to LASH.”

  “First you need to help me find Mallory. Then you can get the file to LASH,” I directed.

  Half an hour later Hank and I were on our way to the airport to catch Mallory before her plane took off for Dallas. Thanks to Blane, Marcel was already on the Happenstance jet on the way to Charlotte to deliver the file that would hopefully nail Kirkland Hamilton once and for all.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Ready, Set…

  Mallory

  “Be glad you have money, ’cause if it was up to me you’d be rotting in your bedroom for the rest of your life instead of flying to Dallas to some crack pot rehab clinic.”

  “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

  “Tell that to the people you almost killed. Tell that to your mother who is devastated. Tell that to someone who gives a damn.”

  Bzzzzz…Bzzzzz…Bzzzzz…
<
br />   I slowly opened my eyes and blinked.

  Bzzzz….Bzzzz…

  As I reached for my phone I felt movement behind me and froze – Grant. Last night’s activities came roaring back and I physically cringed. Grant’s mother, Kirkland, tiny bottles of alcohol…. Way to go Mallory. My phone buzzed in my hand and I looked down to see who was calling. CiCilia. I glanced at the clock on the nightstand and instantly knew something was wrong. CiCi never called before nine unless it was important. Not wanting to wake Grant, I clicked the call over to voicemail and quietly slipped out of bed. As I made my way to the bathroom I thought about Grant’s parents. Kirkland knew exactly what he was doing last night. He knows something’s up. After brushing the morning-after-a-binge taste from my mouth, I called CiCilia back.

  “Are you okay?” she answered after the first ring.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” I hesitantly asked. Then it hit me. She probably saw the pictures. It was only a matter of time before pictures of me and Grant got out, but I still should have warned her. “Look, the pictures are nothing,” I started to explain.

  “Are you kidding me?” she screeched. “It’s a fucking witch hunt.”

  Ooookay, obviously she was upset. “Sometimes it’s part of the job, Ci, you know this.”

  “Have you seen the news this morning?” My stomach instantly knotted. “You haven’t, have you? Turn on your television now,” she ordered.

  I bent over the sink and tried to catch my breath. Grant was asleep. I didn’t want to wake him. I especially didn’t want to wake him if what I thought was happening was actually happening. I knew it was a possibility, but nothing had prepared me for how I would feel once it actually came to fruition. “How bad is it?” I asked.

  “The worst,” she quietly replied.

  Nausea bubbled in my gut. I knew I was about to be sick. “I’ll call you back,” I said, and ended the call. I rushed to the toilet, dropped to my knees and vomited up last night’s pity party. After cleaning myself up, I began to pace back and forth across the bathroom floor. What do I do? What do I do? I chanted in my head. I threw up my hands in resignation. There was only one thing to do. I had to leave. As quickly as possible, I packed my makeup and toiletries. Then I slipped back into the bedroom and pulled out my suitcase. The rest of my clothes were in the bottom of the bus. I would have to get Hank to ship them to me later. I threw on jeans, a t-shirt and running shoes. Snagging Grant’s baseball cap off the floor, I threaded my ponytail through the back before tightening the strap. Once my things were packed there was nothing left for me to do but go. Only, I didn’t want to go. As I stared down at the man I was head over heels in love with, I felt my heart breaking. I don’t want to leave you. The sound of his phone buzzing on the nightstand spurred me into action.

  Hailing a cab in New York at six forty-five in the morning was surprisingly easy. Thank God for the city that never sleeps. Once I was secured in the back seat and on the way to LaGuardia, I pulled out my phone and watched the news. CiCilia was right. It was awful. How I’d managed to keep the accident a secret all these years was beyond me. Every day for the past five years I’d worried that today would be the day. Well, today was the day and the biggest part of me felt… relief. Next to that I just felt sad, sad and heartbroken. I should have told Grant when I had the chance. I should have done a lot of things while I had the chance. As I dropped my head back against the headrest and stared at the cigarette burns on the ceiling, I thought about how disappointed Grant was going to be. Tears burned the backs of my eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  Right as we hit the airport phone calls started pouring in. The first was from CiCilia. I sent it to voicemail. Lord knows I would have plenty of time to talk to her once I was home. The second was from my mother. I contemplated answering it, but didn’t know what to say. The third and fourth were from numbers I’d never seen before. In the end I wasn’t sure what to say to anyone, so I just turned off my phone all together. As luck would have it there was a non-stop flight to Dallas leaving at nine. I passed by several gates on the way to mine. Each had its own TV and all were turned to the news. Every time my face appeared on the screen I wanted to vomit. Once I reached my gate I found a corner as far away from a television as possible and sat down. I tried not to think about Grant, but found myself wondering, Is he awake yet? If so, does he know? Does he hate me? How can he not? When they called my section to board, I didn’t want to go. I knew that leaving was the right thing to do, but my heart refused to cooperate. My heart wanted Grant. When they called for final boarding I had no choice but to go. As I stared out the tiny airplane window, I thought, what an amazing dream this turned out to be.

  Too bad it has to end.

  * * *

  Two days later

  My life has completely imploded.

  “Mallory, are you listening to me?”

  “Yes, CiCi, I hear you.”

  “You have to go back.”

  “I can’t go back and you know it.”

  “It’s only a matter of time before they terminate the contract. That can’t happen,” CiCi hissed. I stared down at the phone and contemplated hanging up on her, but knew she would just call me back.

  The past three days had been awful. I’d waited until I got home from the airport to turn on my phone. It took me forever to wade through the messages. Most of the calls were from Grant, CiCi and my mom. I was surprised to have also received calls from Nash and Hank. I was fine until I listened to the voicemails. Grant wanted me to come back. He said he understood why I ran, we needed to talk and everything was going to be okay. He was lying. I could hear it in his voice and, if I went back, I would see it in his eyes – disappointment, or even worse, disgust. Thanks, but No Thanks. Nash told me in no uncertain terms to get back to them and my head out of my ass. Hank said he was giving me a few days to lick my wounds…then he was coming to get me. Walking away was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. Going back wasn’t an option. However, moving on was, and the very best way for me to move on was to get as far away from Grant as humanly possible, which is exactly why I asked CiCi to put me on a new assignment. She flipped out, of course. She was hell-bent on me finishing my current assignment. I told her she was welcome to finish out the contract for me, but I wasn’t going back. It wasn’t my fault she was stuck with the tennis player and couldn’t be here in person to knock some sense into me. When I explained the entire thing wasn’t real and Grant wasn’t actually an addict, she wouldn’t listen. When I told her I’d slept with my client and was in love with him, and she still told me to go back, I was blown away. I was also hurt. Did she know what she was asking me to do? Did she care that my heart was broken? No, she was more worried about the company. Truth be told, I was glad she wasn’t here. It was bad enough dealing with my phone, which had rung twenty-four-seven since I’d been home. I had to pick and choose when to turn the damn thing on. I shut it off yesterday at ten A.M. and didn’t turn it back on until eight last night. Reporters, as well as people I hadn’t spoken to in years, were hounding me. I didn’t dare turn on the television for fear of what I would find. The only calls I would return were CiCilia and my mom’s. My mom only wanted what was best for me. Clearly CiCi did not.

  “I’m not going back,” I repeated for the thousandth time.

  “Mallory!” she exclaimed in frustration.

  “Do you hear yourself? I’m in love with my client. I slept with my client. My heart is in a million pieces!” I loudly responded.

  “And I’m truly sorry for that. This is a business and you are my employee. Shit happens. You’re under a contract, Mal, and if Happenstance chooses to terminate it based on your breach, we will have to pay. According to my calculations, it will cost us approximately one point two million dollars for you to break this contract. Do you have that kind of money sitting around? I sure as hell don’t and this company sure as hell doesn’t. Look, I know you’re heartbroken. I get it, but you’re not looking at the big picture h
ere. This contract…this money will provide us overhead for the next year, if not longer. We need it.” The only way to get her off the phone was to tell her I’d consider it.

  Grant called multiple times a day and left messages. Some were short, some were long, but all were asking me to please talk to him. I couldn’t. I knew I was being ridiculous, but at the end of the day talking to him wasn’t going to change anything. He was a Rock Star and I was a drug counselor. We didn’t make sense. I was barely holding on by a thread and I knew if I spoke with him it would just tip me over the edge. So, instead of facing it head on, I hunkered down in my apartment like a coward, refused to answer the door or my phone and hoped it would all go away.

  It didn’t go away. It only got worse.

  One week to the day after my return home, I was parked on my sofa watching back to back episodes of The Housewives of I forget which state when my doorbell rang. As usual, I ignored it and cranked up the volume. It rang three more times before the person finally gave up. At least, I thought they’d given up, but then I heard my doorknob rattle and wondered, what in the world? After a moment of silence, I figured they’d officially given up and gone away. Then the door suddenly swung open and in walked Grant.