by K. Webster
Five thousand dollars.
Shit.
I reluctantly hand over the clerk my credit card—the one I just paid off—with the exactly five thousand dollar availability. I’m maxed out again. Lovely.
“Next please,” she says, dismissing me with a bored tone and a pop of her gum as she slides the receipt to me.
I’m practically shoved out of the way when the next person in line steps up to her window. Six hours after the event with Donnie, I’m completely exhausted. It’s nearly four in the morning and I’m supposed to start the shift of my other job in four hours. Today is not my day.
When I fall into my car, completely exhausted, I plug in my dead phone. As I’m pulling out of the parking lot, I’m bombarded with notifications on my cell.
I make the quick drive to my apartment and park in the garage. This apartment has been home to me ever since I graduated college, and I love it. It might not be the biggest place or the fanciest, but it’s my place. And as long as I’m not under my father’s constant thumb, I’m okay with something average.
I swipe open my phone and my eyes widen at all the texts and missed calls. There’s an unknown number that tried calling several times. My father called three times and Libby called four.
Quickly, I listen to my dad’s voicemail first. “Sunshine, I’ve attempted to get ahold of you a couple of times. Please call me back. I heard you were assaulted…among other things. I would really like a call back so you can dispel some of the wild rumors going around. Love you.”
Rumors?
My father is Las Vegas’s very own Stormy, Channel 6’s superstar weatherman. His real name is Court Storm, but when he chose the career path of meteorologist, he rapidly earned the catchy nickname, which has been his trademark ever since. Dad’s face is plastered on half the billboards around town boasting a slogan: ‘Stormy’s been serving up sunshine since 1986.’ Vegas fell for it hook, line, and sinker, never fully realizing that sunshine is just a part of the city and has nothing to do with ol’ Stormy.
Knowing that dad will be there since he works the morning shift at the station, I hurry and dial him back.
“Hello, sunshine,” he greets in his TV voice. I try not to cringe. Sometimes Dad gets a little too into character.
“What’s up, Dad?” I ask as I sleepily rub my eyes. Hooking my purse under my arm, I climb out of the car and make the trek to the elevators.
“There are some ridiculous rumors buzzing all over the station that Nora Storm, my little sunshine, was attacked by some wasted rock star misfit. Did someone assault you at a night club last night?”
I sigh in annoyance. This crap spreads like wildfire. “Yes, Dad. But it was all a misunderstanding. I know him and he wasn’t himself.”
He goes silent for few moments. “Okay. That’s what I thought. So, the rumors that you were working at this strip club weren’t true either, right?”
Fuck.
Dad doesn’t know about my side job. When I got a little in over my head in credit card debt, I picked up the job to help me catch up so that I wouldn’t have to ask for Dad’s money. Besides, there’s always a price to pay with Dad’s help. If he had to pay off my credit cards, not only would I hear unending lectures, but he’d feel the need to try to take over my finances or want me to move back home. I’m a grown woman and need to handle what life throws at me on my own. Certainly not with Dad coming to my aid at every failure.
However, I was still too chickenshit to tell him that I’d taken a job as a glorified stripper.
“It’s not a strip club, Dad,” I sigh weakly.
His silence on the other end is only the calm before the storm. Pun intended.
“Nora Rosalyn Storm! My only daughter is taking her clothes off for money? What in the hell for? You know, if you ever need a dime, I’ll give it to you. This is ridiculous! Have you even thought about what this’ll do to my reputation, Nor? No! You were being a carefree brat like your mother. And look where that got her. Dead, Nora. Dead.”
Tears prickle my eyes at the mention of her. I choke back a sob because his disappointment in me is loud and clear.
He exhales loudly, knowing he was too harsh. “I’m sorry, sunshine. I didn’t mean that. I’m just really upset. Come over later and have supper with me. I’ll make your favorite.”
Even though he’s trying to win me back with the promise of spaghetti with the sauce my mother taught him how to make, I’m still stung by his previous remark.
“Maybe, Dad. I’m tired. I may just go home and crash.” A tear rolls down my cheek and I punch the button on the elevator.
“Sunshine—”
“I’ll call you later. I’m about to lose my signal in the elevator. Bye, Dad.” I hang up on him and enter the elevator.
The tears are gushing before I make it all the way in. By the time I reach the eighth floor, I’ve swallowed back my sadness before I slowly make my way to my apartment.
All I want to do is shower and crawl into bed for the remaining time I have left before I have to go to work. After I’ve locked up behind me, I drop my purse on the floor and pad down my hallway toward my room through the dark. When I see light coming from my room, I halt and listen. I hear familiar snores and want to scream. I cannot deal with anymore shit until after I’ve slept.
My theories are confirmed when I enter my room and find Jansen sprawled out on my bed snoring logs. If I wake him, he’ll just want to talk and I’ll just want to yell at him. Deciding that I’ll put it off until after I’ve had time to close my eyes and regroup, I snatch my pillow from my bed and stalk back into my living room. Within seconds of my head hitting the pillow, I pass right the hell out.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Jansen chirps a little too happily for as early as it is.
Ignoring him and the nickname he stole from Dad, I roll to my side and check the time on my phone. The asshole woke me up five minutes before my alarm. I needed those last five minutes. Bastard.
“What are you doing here and how the fuck did you get into my apartment?” I groan and roll over to bury my face into the couch cushions.
You’d think, after this many months, my heart wouldn’t hurt anymore after what he did to me. Well, it still hurts. And with him standing in my living room, waking me up before my alarm like old times, I feel the familiar ache begin to resurface. How is it that, in a matter of days, my boring life has flipped completely upside down and gone to shit?
“I had two keys, Nor. I only gave you one back when I moved in case of emergencies. I wanted to talk to you. I was so worried when I saw that you’d been assaulted. I considered that one of those emergencies where you might need me.” He lifts my ankles up and sits down, pulling them back into his lap.
I still can’t look at him. After the night I had, seeing him today might just send me over the edge.
“I wasn’t assaulted. It was a misunderstanding,” I grumble. “Now, go away, Jansen. Leave the key on the table.”
He starts stroking my bare feet just like he used to do when everything was perfect. Well, things aren’t perfect anymore. I jerk my feet away from him and he sighs out in frustration.
“Nor, I’m trying here. I thought we could talk about a reconciliation.”
I go from feeling a little sorry for myself to boiling over with rage in an instant. Bursting from my prone position, I sit up to face him. To face the handsome devil who ruined my happiness.
“Did you break up with Bianca?” I spit out. Just her name on my lips makes me want to tackle Jansen and beat the shit out of him.
“Yes, baby. I’m not sure why I thought it would work out with her. I want you back.” His voice sounds genuine, but I know he’s a master at spinning his lies.
“Fuck off, Jansen.”
“Baby—”
I spring from the couch and stalk out of the living room toward my bathroom, his heavy footsteps thudding behind me. I’m about to reach the door when he grabs my arm and pulls me around to face him.
“Jans
en, let go of me,” I hiss and pointedly glare at his grip on my arm. “You lost any privileges of being with me when you slept with my coworker. And you know, honestly, I could have forgiven you had it been a one-time mistake. But no. Jansen, you packed your shit and left me. Alone.”
He hangs his head shamefully.
“Now, please get out. I’m in a really pissed-off mood and about three seconds from shoving you out the front door. If you want to keep your dignity intact, I suggest you leave my apartment by the time I get out of the shower. And, again, leave my fucking key on the table.”
When I place my hands on my hips and stare at him furiously, he nods once. Turning on his heel, he strides out of my room and the front door soon slams behind him. I give in to the angry tears that burst from me and storm into the bathroom.
I am so over this day already.
“You’ve made bail,” the officer tells me blandly.
My head is pounding like a motherfucker as I drag myself to my feet and follow him out of the cell and down the corridor. In my entire adult life, I’ve done some stupid shit. But I’ve never done anything as stupid as I did last night. I’ve never been arrested.
“This way,” he says, guiding me out a secured door into a lobby. “Collect your things there and you’re free to go.”
After I’ve regained possession of my phone, my keys, and my wallet, I make my way out of the building.
“What the fuck happened, man?” I know that voice. Kenny.
I turn to see him leaned against the brick building with his arms folded across his chest. Another person disappointed in my actions. Join the club, dude.
“I got bored waiting for your ass, Kenny Mouse,” I laugh. My laugh is hollow though.
I’ve done nothing but think about how I yanked that girl right off the fucking stage. I would vomit, but hours earlier, I already emptied everything in my stomach, which wasn’t much since I didn’t eat the stupid watermelon shit.
He’s still frowning at me. I’m hungry as shit and can’t deal with his looks right now. Thank God it’s him and not Chaz and Bobby. I’d probably already have my ass kicked by Chaz if he were here.
“Got any smokes?” I ask, stuffing my hands into my pockets.
He shakes his head. Of course not. Kenny is one of those good ol’ boys. The biggest problem in Kenny’s life is forgetting to put an appointment in his Outlook calendar. Fuck him and his Outlook calendar.
“We have a lot of damage control to do,” he groans and starts striding along the sidewalk toward the parking lot.
I follow in step behind him. My stomach churns as I analyze the domino effect my actions will have. Not only will this affect me, but it will affect my bandmates. And fuck, it will affect Dad and Dappy too.
“How do we fix it?”
“I’m working on it. I’ve been talking to Sybil and she’s been coaching me on what we need to do. First and foremost, you’ll be issuing a public apology.”
Sybil is our publicist. We’ve never really needed her to fix our shit until now. The problem with David, our old manager, was her biggest project until now.
“I can do that. Thanks for bailing me out so quickly, man,” I tell him as we reach his car.
He frowns and looks over the roof of the car at me. “D, I didn’t bail you out. She did.”
I freeze in shock. “What the fuck, man? Lady Hurricane bailed me out? Where is she?” I look all around the parking lot as if she’s going to suddenly materialize before me.
“You can’t be going all stalker and shit. This isn’t you, Donnie,” he says sternly.
“Tell me her name.” Yep, I’m officially going “all stalker and shit.” “Kenny, tell me her name and I’ll back the fuck off.”
He shakes his head and gets into the car. After wrenching the car door open, I fall into the passenger’s seat. What is wrong with me? I’ve become obsessed with knowing this woman. Choosing to not piss Kenny off any further—I can see his white knuckles on the steering wheel—I look out the window and try not to think about the brown-eyed beauty.
Last night, when I discovered it was her on that stage, I internally warred with yelling at her and fucking her across one of the tables. Something was different about that woman and it drew me to her to the point of making me crazy.
My thoughts of her are interrupted when I realize that we’re going in the opposite direction of my house. “Where are we going?”
“Breakfast,” he grumbles out as he drives.
Moments later, we’re pulling into the parking lot of one of our favorite restaurants. When I see two familiar, very pissed-off-looking, tattooed motherfuckers standing out front, I roll my eyes.
“Really, Kenny?”
He shrugs his shoulders and parks the car. I’ve barely made it out of the car and stood up before Chaz is on my shit. His massive fist swings at me, but I duck out of the way and distance myself from him.
“What the fuck is your problem, asshole?” I spit out.
Bobby grabs his arm to keep him from coming after me.
“My problem? YOUR problem has now become OUR problem, you stupid fuck,” Chaz growls. “I left my wife and kids to drive three and a half hours through the night to come address OUR problem. What the fuck were you thinking?”
I shake my head and stare at the sky. It’s still dark even though it’s early morning. I’m tired as hell and just want to sleep all of this off.
“How is this your problem?” I finally ask, turning my attention back to him and Bobby.
This time, Bobby speaks up. “Donnie, you beat up the daughter of the number-one weatherman in Vegas! I can’t even fathom what the fuck went on in your head to bring you to such a fucking low.”
What the fuck is he talking about?
“I didn’t beat her up, asshole. I just pulled her off the stage. She doesn’t belong up there. She’s better than that. She helped deliver YOUR fucking baby, Bobby.” My anger is unwarranted, but I’m ready to punch a hole through something. Kenny will be downright pissed if I take out on the window of his precious BMW.
“What the fuck ever, man. You put your hands on a woman and the press has gone absolutely crazy with this. Not only did you make a public idiot out of yourself, but you did it with Nora fucking Storm, asshole. Do you really think Channel 6’s Stormy will keep quiet about his daughter being mistreated?” Bobby grumbles.
I tense when he says her name. Nora. Nora Storm. He’s still talking, but I can’t stop thinking about the go-to-hell look she gave me yesterday morning when she blew out of my bed looking like a wrinkled fucking mess. A hot wrinkled fucking mess.
“Earth to Donnie. What’s going on in that head of yours? You aren’t you, and Chaz and I are sick to death of wondering what’s going on with you.” Bobby’s tone has softened, but it only fuels my anger.
“What is this? A fucking intervention? You both can suck my dick. I’m fine. You think you’re so fucking perfect with your wives and kids. Fuck off and leave me the hell alone,” I mutter as I stalk down the sidewalk away from them. “Oh wait, you already did.” My laugh is cold as I put distance between them and me.
Chaz is yelling after me, but I ignore him and step into a cab.
Away.
Away from their condescending asses.
Alone.
That annoying fucking ringtone. It won’t stop.
I slide my arm out of the covers and blindly swat at my bedside table in an attempt to locate my damn phone to shut it off, but I only manage to knock it onto the floor. It continues playing “Not Your Fault” by AWOLNATION, and I groan. At the time, I thought I was clever to assign the song to my father’s contact. Now, it just mocks me, because it is my fault. Everything’s my fucking fault. And now, with the relentless ringing, I know my dad’s about to lay into me.
Pulling my pillow over my head, I try to block out the noise. Finally, I give up and angrily snatch my phone from the floor.
“What?” I snap.
Silence meets me on the other e
nd and I cringe. Fuck me and my little attitude lately. I need to get this shit in check.
“Why don’t you try again, Donald?” His voice is cold, but I don’t miss the anger threatening to break his normally composed resolve.
I sigh in defeat. “Good morning, Dad.”
“Son, it is four in the afternoon. It is hardly morning. We need to talk.”
Once again, I feel my body tense up at his words. I have no doubt that my little episode at the club last night has brought down the wrath of Donald Archibald Jennings Sr.
“So talk.” My tone is clipped, but I can’t put up false pretenses today. I’m at the end of my fucking rope.
“I’ve spoken to Sidney Mooney,” he begins.
I roll my eyes because Sid is our attorney. Has it really gotten this fucking bad in a matter of hours?
“He thinks we can settle outside of court. Mr. Storm is remaining tight-lipped and hasn’t issued a formal statement yet. Miss Storm has denied any interviews with the press as of yet. We’re not sure why they haven’t taken this and run with it, but for whatever reasons, they’ve remained quiet.”
The mention of her name has my mind spinning. Just yesterday she was curled up against me.
“I need to apologize to her,” I groan. She deserves my apology for what I did to her. For bringing my fame into her life. The poor woman is probably being hounded as we speak. In all honesty, though, I just want to see her.
“You’ll get your chance, Donald. Do you understand that not only have you hurt this poor woman’s image, but you’ve also damaged those around you? Like mine?” He’s still calm, but I can always sense when he’s pissed. And right now, Dad is furious.
“I’m sorry.”
“Daphney has already been harassed at work by reporters. These people know everything about you. You gave them ammunition to ruin you. To ruin us.”
I’m nauseated when I think about those fuckers bugging my sister. “Dad, I’m sorry.”