Hidden in the Stars (Falling Stars #2)

by Sadie Grubor

  Silence, densely thick, fills the room.

  "Kristy?" Jackson's voice slices through like the edge of a sword.

  "Yeah, babe?" Her tone perks.

  "We. Are. Not. Together." He punctuates each word, his tone ruthless. "And you knew that before you came to L.A."

  Onlookers gasp.

  He didn't. What a dick move.

  Kristy sputters for a moment. I don't care for her, but I can't help but empathize with her.

  "I told you that shit before I flew down here. Don't act like it's a big fucking surprise," he says, contempt now in his voice.

  "You fucking bastard. I will fucking ruin you." Her threat is calm, almost too calm. Without further prompting, Kristy turns on her heels and walks out.

  "Alright, everyone," Red breaks the uncomfortable silence, "let's close up and get out of here. It's been a long fucking night." He sounds exhausted.

  "He needs to go," Bethany stresses from the doorway.

  "Jack, come on." Red motions for him to follow.

  Jackson's eyes stay on me—watching, searching.

  He has a taste for you. When the craving goes, you'll be another Kristy.

  "You heard him." Bethany steps in the room, pointing to the door.

  "I don't give a fuck about him, Liza." Jackson takes three strides to stand over me.

  I tilt my head back to meet his eyes.

  Leaning down, his hands grip the armrests. His face stops inches from mine.

  "When I want something, I can be very persistent."

  My eyes drop to his lips. He stands, smiling with satisfaction, a promise in his eyes.

  "Jackson," Red says, his irritation evident.

  "I'll be outside, snake charmer." Licking his bottom lip, he turns, leaving the room.

  Exhaling, I slouch in the chair.

  I have to find a way out of here without him seeing me.

  "I don't know whether I should be scared for you or jealous." Bethany rights her chair before sitting.

  "Scared," I respond. "Definitely scared."

  Chapter Ten

  Jackson

  Over an hour. I've waited for over a fucking hour.

  "Hey, we're closed." The flamboyant doorman tries to stop me. One look and he stays back.

  Striding into the empty club, I make my way to the hidden door at the side of the stage. It swings open, causing me to jump back.

  "Jackson?" Red's brow furrows, a combination of annoyance and confusion on his face.

  "He's here?" Bethany squeaks, pushing by him to narrow her eyes at me.

  "Where's Liza?"

  Red opens his mouth, but Bethany moves in front of him.

  "She's gone." She smirks. "She went home, Jackson, where she should be. The last thing she needs is another night with a lying asshole."

  She snuck out the fucking back? She avoided me.

  "Babe." Red's large hand clasps her shoulder.

  "I'm the liar?" I snort in disbelief.

  "You're also an asshole," she adds, shaking Red's hand off. "Liza's a good person. Quit fucking with her." Her arms cross over her chest.

  "Mind your own fucking business," I growl, turning away.

  "Leave her alone. Liza and the boys don't need your kind of shit." She throws the words at my back.

  "Boys?" I spin around, anger and hurt stabbing my chest. She fucking snuck out to get away from me, to get to him, leaving me standing on a fucking curb. "Maybe the fact that he's a boy is why she spent the night with me. Ever think of that?"

  Her mouth opens, and then closes. Brows furrowed, she looks over her shoulder to Red and back to me.

  "What the hell are you talking about?" She drops her arms.

  "Nothing," I snap, done with it all. "Tell her she can fucking have him. I get it and I'm nobody's bitch."

  Turning, I take quick steps toward the exit.

  "What are you talking about?" Bethany asks my back.

  I don't stop or look back.

  "Red, what's he talking about?"

  The heavy metal door slams shut behind me, cutting off her grating voice. I approach the car and Sam stands from the driver's seat. Putting up a hand, I stop him.

  "I’ve got it," I say, grabbing the handle and letting myself into the car. "Just get me the fuck out of here."

  Reaching a hand into my pocket, I pull out the vial and open it. Empty.

  "Fuck!" I toss it at the seat across from me.

  Rubbing my face, I fight the urge to shout until the windows shatter. My cell vibrates against my leg, distracting me from the craving—the need.

  I lift it up, reading Red's name flashing on the screen.

  Yeah, just what I need. His bitch probably has him banning me from the club or some shit.

  Ignoring the call, I drop the phone into the seat next to me. It vibrates again—this time, a text.

  Red: We need to talk

  Swiping the screen, I touch delete and rest my head back for the remainder of the ride.

  I push open my hotel room door, my stash in the bathroom the only thing on my mind. Kristy's form in the dark doorway of my bedroom halts my steps.

  "Are you fucking serious?" Running my shaky hands through my hair, I lick my dry lips.

  "I'm willing to forgive you for tonight, but I won't forget how you embarrassed me." She steps into the light, naked. "You're going to have a lot of making up to do, though."

  What did I ever find attractive about her?

  She raises a fist and uncurls her fingers, a brown vial laying center palm.

  "I know what you want, Jackson."

  Her long fingers uncap the vial and sprinkle it over her chest.

  "You just have to say you're sorry." Licking her finger, she runs it across the white powder before rubbing it on her gums. "Tell me you’re sorry and I can give you what you need, baby."

  She steps forward, the powder trickling between her breasts.

  I rub my hands on my jeans, but can't get them dry. I take deep breaths, but can't get enough oxygen.

  Charging forward, she flinches back a little, but holds her ground.

  I bury my face between her breasts and inhale before licking up to her neck.

  "That's it, baby. Take what you need," she coos, her hand in my hair.

  Reaching out, I grab the vial from her hand, shove her away, and leave her in the sitting room by herself.

  I lock myself inside the bathroom and get three rails into my system.

  "You're pathetic!" Kristy bangs on the door. "You fucking junkie!" Something smashes against the door.

  One more bump and I slide down to the cool floor tile. Closing my eyes, I revel in the numbness.

  Fuck Kristy and her screaming ass. To hell with Liza and her clueless man. Screw. Them. All.

  Silence finally fills the air. Leaning against the sink, I reach up to the counter, grasp the vial, and bring it to me. Another hit and the shower stall slants. My face meets the cold tile with a slap. Shifting to my back, I let the numbness take possession.

  "Jackson!"

  Doesn't she ever go the fuck away?

  "Open the door, Jackson!"

  "Fuck off," I groan, pulling the blanket to my chest.

  "Oh, thank God." She sounds way too relieved. Didn't she want to kill me last night? "Can you please open the door before hotel management gets here?" she pleads.

  I bury my face in the blanket and inhale, a musty smell filling my nostrils. Shoving the blanket away, I open my eyes to the sterile, white tile bathroom. Rolling to my back, I rub my hands over my face.

  "What the fuck?"

  "The manager is going to be here soon," Julia pleads from the other side of the door.

  Shifting my jaw, I grab the counter and pull myself up. Every muscle protests and my bones crack.

  "Jackson, please—!" Opening the door silences her yell.

  "Quit yelling." Yawning, I stumble by her and face plant into the bed. The smell of chemically clean linens assaults my nostrils. Fuck, I shouldn't have let
them wash away the scent of her.

  "You want me to quit yelling?" she asks, incensed.

  "Yeah, that'd be great." The mattress muffles my response.

  "How about don't lock yourself in the bathroom with a bag full of…of whatever that is!"

  "I'm out now," I mumble. "You can go tell the manager not to bother me. I'm going to take a nap."

  I jolt up from a sharp pain in my shoulder blade before a decorative statue thumps to the mattress. My scowl doesn't intimidate Julia.

  "You have a schedule to keep and it's my job to make sure you do. Now, get your ass out of bed, in the shower, and meet me in the sitting room for breakfast." She turns and takes three giant steps before spinning back. Pointing a finger at me, she narrows her eyes. "And stay sober." Her voice is low, threatening. "You need to get to the sound studio for meetings, listening sessions, and promo shots."

  She slams the door and I wince at the sound. I roll my head to work out the stiffness and make my way to the shower.

  Thirty minutes and two hits later, a still angry Julia escorts me to the studio in silence. Even when we arrive and Sam opens the door, she exits without a peep. The silence from her, a usually chatty girl, grates my nerves.

  "Are you going to give me the silent treatment for—?"

  "We need to go to studio room C." She keeps her eyes on her iPad.

  "Julia, look—”

  "We're going to be late." She steps from me and into the studio.

  My eyes land on Sam, who wears a grim look. Sighing, I follow after the pissed off little pin-up.

  She stops at the door and stands aside.

  "Do you need anything?" she asks, her voice flat.

  I stop before entering the door.

  "I'm sorry about this morning."

  She gives a nod and I exhale heavily before stepping into the room.

  "I don't need anything," I call over my shoulder, not looking back.

  Who the fuck is she to judge me? I don't need shit from her too.

  "You look like hell," Gemma greets, her nose wrinkled.

  "The more you deny your attraction to me, the more I know you want me." I drop into a chair beside her.

  She groans. "Please, if I hear one more pathetic flirty comment, I'm going to blow chunks all over this table."

  "Zarek?" I raise a brow.

  "Of course," she mumbles, her eyes moving to where he sits at the other end of the table.

  Not wanting to be part of that shit, I stay quiet.

  "You need to take a break from the shit," Gemma whispers, her face closer than before.

  "Okay, Mom." My words are a bit more bitchy than intended.

  "Jackson, we're friends and you're looking worse for wear." Her hand slips over my bicep, bringing my attention to her.

  She's closer than I realized, our heads only a few inches apart. Giving her a smile, I cover her small hand with mine.

  "I'm fine. You have nothing to worry about."

  "Maybe we should get started." Zarek's voice booms so loud, I jerk my head in his direction.

  His eyes burn into Gemma and me—especially where our hands touch.

  He's got it bad. Poor fucker. I know all too well how you're feeling.

  Gemma and I put space between us and begin today's listening session.

  The new submissions are better since they were recorded in a professional studio. We get through a fourth of the contestants—listening, discussing, critiquing, listening again, and putting together comments—before a show executive enters the room. She tells us about the upcoming processes and how we will actually be listening to live recordings next week for contestants who are able to come to this studio and another one across town. For others, we will be patched into some different studios via a live feed. We will need to break up into groups to cover them all, but will all hear the final recorded tracks eventually. This just allows us to offer immediate mentoring and feedback as they record.

  Gemma and I team up to take the local studio and live feed from the Seattle Mack Productions Studio. We've both worked with Leo Mackey and his wife, Chloe, in the past. The others team up and get their assignments before we are ushered to promo shots and interviews.

  Today's entertainment reporter, Perry Flores, is well known for his attempts to shock and incense his targets.

  "Why the hell are they using this guy?" I grumble.

  "Because they want publicity," Cheyenne states. "He has a huge following, and if you haven't noticed, this show isn't exactly taking off the way the producers had hoped."

  "Really?" I'm not shocked, but surprised I hadn't already heard this news.

  "Perhaps you should keep your head up instead of face down on smooth surfaces," she quips, brushing her finger under her nose.

  "Excuse me?" I growl, gripping the arms of the director's chair tight.

  She only snorts.

  "So, who would like to begin?" Perry leans his chin into his palm, scanning us. Before any of us have a chance to respond, he continues, "I know. Gemma, let's start with you." He gives her a sleazy smile.

  Fuck, this is going to be bloody.

  "Okay." Gemma smooths her black polka-dot skirt.

  "So, tell me about your relationship with fellow judge Zarek." He bats his eyes.

  Tension pours off Gemma. In my peripheral, I see Zarek stiffen.

  "Well…" she clears her throat, "aside from our work together at the music awards and now as co-judges, we really don't know each other."

  "Really?" He draws out the one word with disbelief.

  She nods. "Yes."

  "My sources tell me you two had an altercation backstage at the music awards. Is that true?"

  You can actually see the glee in his eye at causing discomfort.

  "It was a simple misunderstanding. Not by any means an altercation." Gemma laughs, but it sounds forced.

  "So, you didn't hit him?"

  "I, uh…" she stutters.

  "Like she said, it was a misunderstanding," Zarek chimes in, drawing Perry's attention. "I wasn't exactly kind when we met, which was a misunderstanding on my part. It resulted in me getting something I deserved." He shrugs.

  "How sweet. So quick to defend her." Perry's grin widens.

  "I'm not defending anyone. I just want to make sure it's clear that—”

  "Tell me, Zarek, my sources say you and Ms. Harper were seen entering a hotel room together. Is this true?"

  Gemma gasps.

  "Look, buddy, I don't know what this shit is, but I thought we were here to talk about the show?" I bark, pulling the slime ball’s attention and instantly regretting it.

  "We'll come back to that." His grin widens. "Jackson Shaw. This has been quite a hard year for you." A forced pout forms on his face.

  "I've done okay." I narrow my eyes at him, hoping he gets the hint to leave it alone.

  "I, for one, am glad to see you looking so well after the whole cheating debacle." He nods, looking positively sincere. "Now, with the medical concerns you're dealing—”

  I laugh. "I don't have any medical concerns."

  "Oh, I know. I'm referring to your poor mother. All those doctors and tests."

  My chest constricts, breathing becoming impossible.

  "Can you share with us whether she is doing alright?"

  I try to swallow, but choke. Coughing, I see Perry's mouth and pen moving, but can't hear anything.

  Mom? Doctors? Tests? What the fuck is…how can he….what if...?

  A glass of water appears in my face and I reach for it, but it slips through my fingers, crashing to the floor. Standing from the chair, I rip the mic wire from my chest and toss it to the floor before exiting the room.

  "Jackson," Julia's voice is filled with concern, "I didn't know he was going to—”

  "I need to leave." I turn on her, grabbing her shoulders. "Get the fucking car, Julia!"

  Her eyes widen as she steps back, bringing her phone to her ear.

  Seeing her phone makes me reach for my own. Scr
olling, I tap Mom with more force than necessary.

  Julia grabs my elbow, pulling me down the halls toward the exit.

  No answer. I call again.

  Outside, Sam stands, holding the door open. I throw myself into the car and disconnect the unanswered call. Julia slips in behind me.

  I scroll again, this time calling Christopher.

  "Yeah," he answers on the first ring.

  "What the fuck is going on with Mom, Chris?" I shout.

  His sigh is heavy.

  "I don't fucking know, man. Neither of them will answer my calls. I'm on my way over there now."

  "So, you knew she was seeing doctors? Why wouldn't you fucking tell me?"

  "I didn't fucking know until today," he snaps. "Mia got cornered in the airport by a reporter. She called me right before she got on the plane."

  "She won't answer me," I say, my voice breaking.

  "I'm on it, Jack," Chris assures. "As soon as I get to them, you are the first person I'm calling. I'll fucking put you on speaker."

  I shake my head and take a deep breath.

  "I'm taking the first flight out of here."

  "Jack, I know you want to, but wait. Let me find out what's going on."

  "I can't wait for that. This is my mom." A sob escapes.

  "You don't need to travel right now, brother." Christopher's voice is low. "Get a drink and let me do this. I can get answers before you can fly out. Don't be on a plane where I can't reach you. Okay?"

  I hate that he makes sense.

  "Fine," I snap, "but you better fucking call me as soon as you get there! I'm dead fucking serious, Christopher."

  There's a long silence and I'm about to rage at him once more.

  "Jackson, you're my brother." He pauses, and I know this shit is hard for Chris. "Gwen is my mother, too. There's nothing I wouldn't do for the two of you."

  Tears clog my throat, the fear of the unknown and the rawest response I've ever experienced from Christopher fucking with my emotions.

  I nod even though he can't see me.

  "Hang in your hotel room. Grab a drink and the book you write your poetry shit."

  My eyes widen and mouth pops open.

  "Yeah, fucker, I know you still write that shit." Chris' tone is back to normal. "You should probably consider writing some lyrics instead of exhausting my brilliance all the fucking time."