by Lane Hayes
“Whoever this is seems fixated on Isaac,” Ed said, tapping his fingers on the glass table. “He’s the only one who’s tagged on these messages. It’s personal, ya know?”
“Mmm.” Larry looked up from the sheaf of papers documenting each correspondence with my “admirer.” “Your fans call you Isaac D, hmm? You’re the one who wears skirts in the band.”
I crossed my arms and leaned back in my chair, with a big fuck-you grin on my face. “Not anymore, Officer. It was fun while it lasted. The fans loved it.” I raised my eyebrows lasciviously. “The guys especially. It turned them on, ya know?”
Larry gave me a hard stare, no doubt meant to let me know he’d dealt with much bigger assholes than me.
“Look, we wanted to bring this to your attention and discuss security. Maybe even police protection,” Ed intercepted with a glare aimed in my direction.
“Police?” I gaped at Ed in disbelief.
“A bodyguard is the best place to start. We can allocate police presence for specific events, but not around the clock. We’re spread too thin, and though this is something to keep an eye on, this person seems like the type of obsessive fan celebrities like yourself have to endure. Annoying but usually harmless. They use words to get your attention because they can’t get to you any other way. It’s the price of fame,” Larry commented in a gruff tone. “The line about your mother is a new twist. Do you know if this refers to something specific?”
I shrugged with faux nonchalance. “Didn’t you read up on Spiral gossip, Officer? It was news when the story broke a few months ago. It’s boring now.”
“Refresh my memory, Mr. Dalton,” Larry said in a sharp tone.
I clenched my jaw as a familiar wave of anger tinged with shame washed over me. Again. I shot a humorless, lopsided smile at the men seated across from me and leaned forward, resting an elbow on the table. “It was quite the scandal,” I whispered conspiratorially. “It rocked the socks off the tiny town I grew up in sixteen years ago. As you can imagine, Joe Public ate it the fuck up when some eager reporter did a tell-all recently. The gist is… two nice white folks adopted a poor little light-skinned black boy and raised him in the middle of Nowheresville, Pennsylvania. They were big on good grades and education and were pleased their kid was a serious student and not the goof-off his biological father was. They confessed they’d known the bio dad, but they were reluctant to introduce father and son… until the kid got into trouble.”
“What did you do?” Jerry prodded gently when I paused a beat too long.
“I got caught smoking pot with my best friend and his brother when I was sixteen. My dad’s reaction was a tad over-the-top. You’d have thought he’d found a meth lab in the basement. He freaked out and decided it might be a good idea for me to meet dear ol’ bio Dad after all. Turns out Leo Maynard had had issues with drug and alcohol abuse. He’d been clean for years and was an upstanding citizen who’d recently moved to Springville. Of course Dad wasn’t thinking about the positive changes in Leo’s life. He wanted me to know he’d been a miscreant at one point and I was well on my way to becoming just like him.” I huffed before adding, “It felt pretty strange to meet half of a couple I’d wondered about most of my life out of the blue, and under less than ideal circumstances.”
“I’m sure that was upsetting to you,” Jerry said kindly.
“You could say that. But that’s not the real zinger. It gets juicier. Are you ready for this? Mom fell in love with Leo.” I widened my eyes comically and waited a beat before continuing. “Can you believe that shit? The pretty white lady fell for the black guy. Which I guess is how I came to be in the first place, but… the aftermath wasn’t a sweet love story. My parents got themselves a big fat ugly divorce. Jerry Springer-style. It was quite the sensation in a town as small as Springville.
“Mom and Leo moved to Florida to escape the gossip… and maybe me too. My teenage self didn’t react well to their public meltdown. I still can’t figure out why she thought I’d be happy. If my bio dad turned out to be Denzel Washington or Michael Jordan… maybe. But Leo?” I snorted derisively, then rolled my eyes. “Their interracial love story brought a lot of attention to a kid who’d done his best to stay under the radar, get good grades, and do the right thing. I didn’t care for the scrutiny.”
“I see,” Larry said in a bland tone.
“You probably don’t, but it doesn’t matter. You can read up on the details yourself on TMZ. It made the same waves it did years ago… only this time to an audience of millions.”
“It must have been upsetting to have private aspects of your personal life retold for entertainment purposes,” Jerry piped in sympathetically.
Upsetting was too light a description. Emotional incapacitation and disillusionment were more like it. I didn’t know how to explain the ripple effect it had on my life for nearly a decade afterward. I was a former straight-A student who barely graduated from high school. My dreams to build skyscrapers were abandoned for a six-string guitar and a wanderlust that took me as far from home as I could manage. Living through that nightmare once had been traumatic. I hadn’t liked doing it twice.
“You could say that. But all that happened years ago. Now I’m just a guy in a band,” I insisted.
“A popular band, Mr. Dalton. We’ll check the dates, but it sounds as though the posts coincide with the old scandal leak. Whoever this is feels protective of you. There’s no way to gauge if their obsession is harmful, but we recommend vigilance. Mr. Espinoza has the right idea. Keep records and report anything suspicious. Since you’re in the midst of a high-profile tour, I would advise you to hire a bodyguard full-time.”
I blinked theatrically. “Are you saying I’ve got to be attached to someone night and day? That’s nuts! That’s—”
“Smart,” Larry intercepted with a frown. “You didn’t answer my earlier question about your personal life. Is there a chance this is a prank? Maybe someone who was on the inside and isn’t now? Friends, family, employees, a girlfriend? Or boyfriend?”
“Sorry to burst your bubble, but there’s no one. I’ve been working my ass off for four years straight. My only steady date has been with my right hand,” I snarked.
Ed gave me a stern look, silently asking me to behave, which was borderline hysterical coming from the man wearing the nasty watermelon T-shirt.
“The man you hired part-time… Brian Fitzpatrick is diligent and detail-oriented. He’d make a good choice.” Larry cocked his head and frowned before continuing. “By the way, he mentioned there was someone in your apartment last night. Evidently this person, Adam McBride, has been in your home since July 15. Is he your lover or—?”
I huffed incredulously. “Adam? You must be joking. I went to high school with the guy. He’s straight and we’re friends only. Leave him out of this.”
“Relax, Isaac,” Ed advised.
“How? You’re telling me you want someone to follow me around all day, every day, and I’m supposed to nod and pretend I think it’s an awesome idea. It ain’t happening. Sorry.” I stood and walked to the door. “Nice meeting you, gentlemen. I’ll let you know if I get any more love letters.”
Ed called my name, but I didn’t stop. They didn’t need or want my input. They’d make their decisions about my life and my freedom and let me know what I could and couldn’t do. It might come in memo form, or maybe Ed would try to sweet-talk me into seeing things his way, but the end result would be the same. The cage door was closing again.
Chapter 2
MY STRESS level was too high to ignore. Usually I turned to my guitar and unleashed my frustrations in an electric blaze, losing myself in complex notes until the tension eased from my shoulders. Not today. I had to get the fuck out of the studio before I did or said something I’d regret. I might as well try to shake some of this tension the old-fashioned way—exercise.
The gym in my building featured state-of-the-art equipment in a peaceful setting. A small atrium beyond glass doors led to the sauna. Lus
h foliage provided a nice focal point when the programming on the strategically placed televisions fell flat or when the music or podcasts on your cell failed to entertain. I turned up the volume on an Eric Clapton classic and then adjusted the treadmill setting before beginning a moderate jog.
I glanced at my reflection in the mirror along the front wall. I looked exhausted. And paler than normal. Thankfully my skin tone hid the faint circles under my eyes. And was it my imagination or did I look skinnier than usual? I needed to bulk up. I was five foot ten with dark brown hair I kept closely shaven, and brown eyes. And while I’d always been on the lean side, my biceps looked a little… meager. Hmph. I reluctantly eyed the hand weights against the far wall. I hated lifting, but I supposed I should make time for it before I got downright scrawny. A beanpole with big feet wasn’t a good look.
I had a sudden vision of Adam’s size-thirteen Converse under my coffee table. When thoughts of foot size gave way to hand size and other appendages, I made myself refocus and think about my conversation with him last night. Anything to avoid the one I’d just had with the detectives.
Adam hadn’t seemed overly bummed about the demise of his marriage to his high school sweetshark—excuse me, sweetheart. If anything, his attitude seemed healthy. The part about him sleeping in my guest room, however, was worrisome. Hometown BS invading my New York space might prove highly disruptive. I’d call Ned later to get his perspective. If I hadn’t been tired and preoccupied, I’d have arranged to move Adam to a hotel last night.
Nah, who was I kidding? Where we came from, friends didn’t evict their houseguests. I might have avoided family like the plague, but I adored my friends. I could deal with Adam for a couple of weeks.
“Izzy D’s in the house! You’re up early, man. Great minds, right?”
Or maybe not.
I yanked one of my earbuds out and nodded a curt greeting. Adam chuckled at my less than enthusiastic hello as he hopped onto the machine next to mine. His elbow brushed against me, sending a shiver up my spine. I couldn’t decide if I felt claustrophobic or, God help me, turned on. Neither was good.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Adam’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. He huffed in amusement as he met my gaze in the mirror. “Hmm. I think that was your exact question when you got home last night too. Gee, Isaac, you’re being kinda mean to me.”
I gave a reluctant half laugh at the childish comeback and rolled my eyes for good measure. “It’s too early in the morning for you, Adam.”
“Nine o’clock is not early, ho. I’m usually up by six and—”
“Did you just call me ‘ho’?” I narrowed my eyes in mock censure.
Adam guffawed, smacking his hand on the side of his treadmill. When he sobered, he shook his head and grinned. Damn, he had a nice smile. The kind that could make me forget where we were or what we were talking about, if I wasn’t careful.
“Actually I was going to call you ‘honey,’ but I figured that would piss you off too. You get a little feisty sometimes. It was a fast correction. I’m like a prizefighter dancing in a ring, Ize.” He brought his fists to his chin and scowled into the mirror before giving his impression of a boxer. “Bam, bam, bam!”
“I repeat… it’s too early for you, Adam,” I said in a dull voice.
“Ahh! You mean it’s too early for you to have to deal with me.” He made a funny face, then flipped me off before glancing down to adjust the setting on his machine. “Be nice or pay the price, Dalton.”
“I’m going to blast the volume here in a second so I can ignore you more effectively. But first… didn’t you work late last night? Why are you here so early? And while we’re at it… why are you wearing my socks in my gym?”
I picked up my pace to match my growing temper, but I wasn’t surprised when he laughed. Who could blame him? I couldn’t pull off a decent resting bitch face to save my life. My features weren’t edgy or sharp. They were soft and vaguely effeminate. I looked like everybody’s buddy. The guy you could count on for a shoulder to cry on or a laugh at the end of a tiring day. Besides, my minitantrum had a rock-star-diva quality that instantly embarrassed me. I was off my groove big-time. If I were smart, I’d let him have the gym to himself and come back later.
“You know what they say,” he singsonged. “Possession is nine-tenths of the law. I borrowed your socks a month ago and forgot to put them back. I’ve washed and worn them about five times, so they’re mine now. As for the gym… I’m here every morning. I bet I’ve used this place more in the last three months than you have in the last three years. Am I right?”
“You might be,” I grudgingly admitted.
“Well, there you have it! Technically this is my gym now too.”
“Ugh. Let’s stop talking. It may not be early for you, but it is for me, and I haven’t had any caffeine,” I grumbled.
I averted my gaze when he flashed another brilliant smile, but I couldn’t help sneaking a sideways peek. His plain white T-shirt lovingly hugged his toned arms and chest. I hadn’t realized quite how broad his shoulders were until now. Standing next to him on a treadmill in front of a full-length mirror left no room to hide. He was six inches taller than me and possibly forty pounds heavier. But he was all muscle. When my dick twitched in appreciation, I gulped and looked down at the lights on the machine’s display. This man was firmly off-limits in too many ways to count. There was no point in torturing myself.
“Not a morning person, eh?” Adam cranked up the intensity on his machine and broke into a run. “Hmm. I can’t remember the last time I slept in. It’s been years.”
“You may want to rethink your new job situation, then. Bar hours aren’t conducive to early-morning workouts,” I said, fiddling with the song selection on my iPod.
“Nine isn’t exactly the crack of dawn, wise guy. I worked ’til two, was in bed by three. I got five hours of sleep. Not too shabby. I’ll catch a nap later if I get tired. After I deal with the dogs.”
“Right. How are the dogs?”
“You’re taking a tone, Isaac,” he scolded. “A snobby one. That’s not like you. You love animals. What are you doing this morning? You should come with me. We’ll spend a little roomie time together. Mrs. Kennedy has this cute French bulldog. You gotta meet her. She’s a crack-up.”
“Mrs. Kennedy or her bulldog?”
“Hardy-har. Emma Jo, the bulldog.”
“Emma Jo?” I shook my head and refocused. “Thanks for the invite, but I can’t today. I’m going back to the studio to practice. I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”
“Another time. I do the dog-walking thing three times a week. It started out as a favor to one of the guys I met from the bar, who does it full-time, but I like it. Small pups on Thursdays and the bigger guys on Tuesdays and Fridays.”
“Why do—” I looked up at him and almost lost my balance.
Adam looked larger than life in the mirror. His presence was disconcerting. I struggled to find the pieces of him I remembered from high school to get my balance back. For most of those years, I only looked at Adam as my friend’s hot brother. Eventually we became friends too, but his marriage and my move had made it difficult to stay close. I wondered if I knew enough about him anymore or if time had moved us firmly into acquaintance mode.
Either way, someone was going to have to ask this naïve man some tough questions, like Do you have a clue? Working in a bar was one thing, but dog walking wasn’t going to pay the bills. It was what college kids did to earn a few bucks. Not thirty-three-year-olds who should be thinking about reliable employment options to parlay into a new career in Springville.
“Why do I like big dogs? Probably because of Shelby, our golden when we were growing up,” he replied with a lopsided grin. “You remember Shel—”
“Of course I do,” I snapped. “I’m not talking about big dogs or little dogs. I’m wondering if you know what you’re going to be when you actually grow up.”
Adam paused to give me a
blank look before scratching his head like a monkey. “You’re right, Dad. I better think this one through if I’m gonna make something of myself one day. I sure as heck want you to be proud of me.”
His wide-eyed, innocent delivery was reminiscent of a 1950s sitcom. I chuckled in spite of myself because suddenly I remembered this guy very well. He had a knack for offering perspective with a dose of humor. I’d always thought Ned was lucky to have two cool older brothers: one who played the guitar and taught me every Bowie classic he knew, and one who was funny. And athletic and sexy and—dammit, he still was.
But dog walking?
I cleared my throat theatrically and continued in an exaggerated paternal tone. “I’m sorry to break this to you, but you’re in the wrong field, son. Puppies are pets. Not sound business ventures.”
He gave me a sobering stare and inclined his head. “Believe it or not, I know what I’m doing, Ize. I can’t make things happen overnight, but I’ve got a plan.”
“Explain it.” I ripped my other earbud out to let him know he had my full attention and then gestured meaningfully with my right hand. If I could get him to do the talking, I might manage to get a workout in. Despite dripping sweat, Adam wasn’t the least bit out of breath. He obviously didn’t need to conserve oxygen the way I did.
“Baby steps. That’s all. The way I see it, I need to keep healthy, do something for money, and do something for fun. I want to incorporate all three into one job. Until then, I’ll work it like a puzzle. I get up early six days a week to lift and run. I walk dogs in Central Park three times a week, which… pays better than you’d think, smartass. It’s fun. I love animals and I look forward to it. Then I—”
“What about when it rains? How many are there? The leashes must get tangled. They probably all poop at different times. Seems like you’d spend more than half your walk shoveling shit for minimum wage. How is that fun?”
“Sally Sunshine strikes again. It can’t be from lack of sleep. I heard you snoring last night. What’s got you so grumpy?”