by B. B. Miller
“Guess you showed them, hmm?” I laugh and take a long sip of much-needed caffeine. A good night’s sleep has been elusive on this tour so far, and that shows no signs of changing any time soon.
“I still can’t believe you’re going to be doing a whole concert!”
“Well, I’m not. We’re doing a whole concert.” A smile fills his face. “And some other things too, but I want those to be a surprise.”
“Aww.” He pouts at me—a look that I’m sure gets him whatever he wants whenever he wants it. “Just a hint? Pleeease, Kennedy? Pleease?”
I groan, shaking my head. “Man. You’re killing me here, Park.” His pout slips a bit as he lets out a half-laugh, and then it’s back, along with the big, blue eyes, pleading with me from half a world away. I do the only thing I can. I cave. “All right. Just one hint, but you have to promise me you’ll go to sleep right after this and rest.” I narrow my eyes, pointing at the screen.
“But—”
“No buts,” I interrupt his objection. “Part of being a musician is being prepared and getting lots of rest. You don’t want to disappoint your fans.”
He nods excitedly. “Okay. I promise I’ll rest.”
“Good. We’ll be driving in a limo for part of the day. That’s your hint.”
His eyes widen, and he bounces a little on the bed. “A limo! Like with a sunroof and everything?”
I laugh at his enthusiasm. “Parker, my friend, is there any other kind of limo?”
Pounding on the suite door invades my much-needed sleep.
“Kennedy!” Tucker’s familiar voice seeps through the door once more, and I whip the covers off the extremely large and empty bed. Each day that goes by makes me miss Abby more than the last. The texts and Skype sessions only go so far to fill the void. Time isn’t exactly on our side these days, but we’re both making the effort. Although I’d much rather have her spent and breathless beside me, over the phone will have to do for now.
I haul open the door. Tucker’s large frame filling the space. “What the fuck? It’s not even dawn,” I complain.
“You look like shit.” It’s too fucking early for this.
“You’re not exactly GQ-worthy there either, asshole. What’s going on?” He pushes his way past me and into the suite, radiating nervous energy. I let the door shut behind him. “By all means, come on in.”
In an uncharacteristic move, Tucker sinks to one of the leather chairs, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “It’s Brodie.” The tone in his voice sends an ice-cold shiver through me.
I eye him warily, a wide range of worst-case scenarios flashing through my head. What if he’s gotten to Abby? I should have sent security with her. I feel my jaw tense, the anger spiking dangerously. “What about him?”
“Cops picked him up late yesterday afternoon.”
“Fuck no.” A wave of panic rolls through me.
“It’s bad. He’s in the hospital. OD’d on heroin.” I stare back at him in disbelief, my mouth dropping open.
“They found him behind a club. Mugged, beaten up, arms shot to shit.” He shakes his head.
“But he’s going to be okay, right?”
His angry gaze meets mine. “Did you even hear a single word I just said? That could have been you, idiot.”
“It’s not like that now. I’m going to the meetings. I’m reading every single thing you shove in my face.”
He takes a step back, his anger fading slightly. “Fuck, I know you are. I’m sorry. It’s just . . .” He hesitates, struggling it seems to find his voice. “I don’t have any brothers or sisters. You know the story about my mom. She passed when I was in high school. My dad is a sorry sack of shit,” he continues, his frown intensifying for a moment before he recovers. “So, whether you like it or not, you, the guys, you’re my family.”
I can see the worry in Tucker’s eyes. How many times did I let him down? How many times has he had my back? He’s been in my corner when most people would have left me to rot. And if he’s this worried about Brodie, it must be bad.
“Where is he? London?” I ask finally.
“No. He’s here.”
“Why is he here?”
“Why do you think?” he asks pointedly. “He came to find you.”
A nurse’s shoes squeak along the freshly cleaned linoleum floor of the hospital as she heads down the long hallway, back to her station under the harsh glare of fluorescent lights. The hospital is eerily quiet at this time of the morning. Visiting hours haven’t started yet, but here we are. My name is worth something on a morning like this. Sign your soul away to visit, and I did it. I did it for him, and I did it for me, but mostly, I’m doing it for her. Because this ends right here, right now.
I pause in front of the door to room 819 and exchange a glance with Tucker. The fact that Brodie is lying just beyond the door, having survived a brush with death, has hit me hard.
“This has disaster written all over it,” Tucker mumbles.
“Hey, I didn’t just sign virtually every single body part that’s legal on that nurse for you to pussy out on me right now.”
He smirks, crossing his arms over his chest. “Actually, I don’t think you signed that particular body part, but if you like, I’m sure she’d be more than willing.”
A chill rolls through me. “Don’t give me a visual like that. God, you’re an asshole.”
“You love me, sunshine.”
I push the door open, and he takes a step with me. “I’m going in with you,” he says emphatically, his eyes blazing with determination.
“I’m not going to be long.”
“The last time you two saw each other, you just about beat the shit out of him, and he would have cut you with a piece of glass if I hadn’t been there.”
“But you were there.” I grin.
His eyes narrow in warning. “You know what you said at the hotel, about family?” He gives me a quick nod. “This is me as your brother telling you I need to do this. Trust me, please.”
Reluctantly, he steps to the side, issuing me a warning glance before taking up his position outside the door. “You’ve got five minutes, and then I’m coming in to get you.”
“Wouldn’t expect anything less.”
Stepping into the room, I scan the depressing beige room, taking a sharp breath in when I see Brodie. He’s beyond pale, under the thin sheet, his eyes closed, his breathing deep and uneven.
An IV is shoved into the back of his hand and my eyes travel up the tubing to the pole that holds whatever they’re filling his veins with. Swapping one drug for another. It seems like madness.
I take in his haggard appearance: hair matted and dirty, a fresh black eye, his jaw purple with a few new bruises, and cuts that have opened up on his forehead. And then, my heart stops as I find the track marks up his arms where he’s been injecting fuck knows what into his system. If there’s a more hopeless visual, I’m not sure I want to know about it.
Snippets of the years we’ve shared together come flashing back to me, and it’s not all bad. Brodie was there for our first performance at Madison Square Garden and the first Grammy win. He was on the tour bus the first time we had a song hit number one. He was also there the first time I tried coke, the first time I took a handful pills he offered, and he was there the first time I woke up in a room and didn’t remember what happened the night before. I sink into the stiff chair, my hand dropping to his. It’s lifeless, cold as ice.
“Fuck. What did you do yourself?” I hang my head and try to get a grip on the raging emotions rioting through me. Could I have done something to stop him?
A low grumble from deep within his chest causes me to glance back up to his face. One eye blinks slowly open, the other swollen shut from whatever beating he’s taken. A look of sheer death stares back at me and jars me back to reality. “My hero come to spring me? You look like shit,” he rasps, his tongue snaking out to wet his dried, cracked lips.
“Right back at you.”
> He laughs through a hacking cough, his body bowing in on itself. “Would have gotten sent to the hospital sooner if it meant you’d come talk to me,” he manages, sinking back to the pillow.
“What the hell were you thinking?”
“I just wanted to get lost . . . take the pain away, you know?”
“Heroin, Brodie? Come on. And it looks like someone did a number on your face.”
“Just the wrong place, wrong time.” That sums up a lot of the experiences we’ve had together.
I shake my head. “You could have died.”
“We all have to go sometime. It’s inevitable. It’s that one thing we can’t get out of. That a snake?” he mumbles, making a feeble attempt to lift his arm. Jesus fuck. The nurse said he’s been hallucinating as he tries to come off of whatever he’s injected over the last few days. This is fucking bad.
“Robin was good,” he stammers, his voice slower than normal. “So good, Kennedy. She’s an angel, you know? She visits me sometimes.”
My jaw clenches, my heart constricting at the sound of her name. “Don’t talk about her,” I grind out.
“We used to talk, you know? Your sister and me. Not all the time. Just sometimes. Concerts, hotels . . . places. She was good in all this.” He tries to lift his hand unsuccessfully. It flops lifelessly back to the bed. “I hated you. You had everything, and you just ignored her. You pushed her away.”
“Brodie . . . Jesus. You don’t know what you’re talking about right now.”
“I know.” He tries to grip my arm, failing quickly. “I know you’ll come crawling back, begging me to help you.” He tries to laugh, but ends up hacking again. “I’ll be out soon, and I’ll hook you up. Remember that time in Amsterdam? Fuck that was . . .” His eye shuts again, his body racking with a shiver under the sheet. “It’s so fucking cold in here. Why is it so cold?”
I stand, pushing the chair across the floor. I can feel the tenuous hold I have slipping; the walls are closing in, threatening to suffocate me.
“This is what’s going to happen.” My voice is tense, bordering on menacing. “You’re going to sign your release. You’re going to forget about any ridiculous ideas you have about going to the press. And then, you’re going to get some help.”
He tries to flash me a grin, grimacing with pain in the process. “Thirty-day wonder program. And when I’m all better, it’ll be just like it used to be. I’ll come look you up, right?” There’s a glimmer of hope in his eye that cuts me to the core.
My mouth goes dry, the words bubbling to the surface. “No. When you’re better, you stay the hell away from me.”
Abigail
“Please, take a seat, ladies.”
April and I exchange a glance before taking seats at the other end of the table from Ralph and the board members. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Tess rising to prevent other staff members from entering, and then closing the door behind her. Knowing her, she’s probably going to stand guard to keep anyone else from entering for the time being, which is just as well. The last thing I want is to add more fodder to the gossip mill.
Ralph steeples his fingers in front of him and gives me a troubled look. “Abigail, Ms. Baskov has provided us with some information, which I must say is very concerning, about the Parker Jensen dream. She claims that you’ve failed to maintain appropriate boundaries with a celebrity donor; in fact, you’ve used Parker and the Foundation to achieve a, ah, closeness with the donor in question.”
I glance at the tiny, triumphant smirk on Nadia’s lips, and narrow my eyes. Seriously?
Game on, sweet pea.
“Really? And, just to be clear, which donor would that be?” I ask coolly.
“Kennedy Lane,” the Board’s Vice President supplies helpfully, and Ralph rolls his eyes at the woman’s breathy tone. I’ll have to explain to him later that Kennedy just has that effect on people. I should know.
“I see.” I purse my lips thoughtfully. “Well, I do try to maintain a friendly association with all our donors, because, of course, the more positive experience they have with us ensures that we can call on them again if need be. Besides, it’s just good business. I don’t really have to explain or justify that, do I?”
“Of course not,” Ralph agrees. “But has your conduct with Mr. Lane deviated from your usual donor interaction?”
I take a measured breath. “While it’s true that I’ve developed a close tie with Mr. Lane outside of our business relationship, it has no bearing whatsoever on the Foundation or on Parker’s dream. Mr. Lane was extremely interested in participating from our first meeting, although I admit that initially he had to convince me that he could provide an appropriate interaction with Parker. He personally provided several ideas, and he finally assured me that he is more than able to provide not only Parker with a dream of a lifetime, but something that will benefit several other children directly and the Foundation in general.” I can’t help my pride in Kennedy from showing; he’s truly jumped in with both feet, and his dedication is inspiring.
“And just how did he ‘convince’ you?” Nadia scoffs, earning her a glare from several Board members. “You were dead set against his involvement when we left our first meeting with him. But then you’re suddenly meeting privately with him in New York and here in your office . . . and God knows where else. Why don’t you just admit it, Abby? It was the other way around! You were the one who had to convince him. And it’s fairly obvious how you did it.”
“Oh, please!” April interjects hotly, her eyes snapping with uncharacteristic temper. “What a load of horse—”
“That’s simply not true,” I assert calmly, cutting her off with a gentle hand on her forearm. While I appreciate April’s support, this is something I need to do myself. “It was pure coincidence that I ran into Mr. Lane in New York, but it gave him a chance to present some of his ideas for Parker for my consideration,” I continue, looking at the faces around the table.
“But that’s not all you’ve been discussing with Mr. Lane, is it?” Nadia sneers. “Looking for a more glamorous life, are we? You jet off to party with rock stars, leaving the rest of us to do your work for you. Nice. Did you think about how your staff was handling your work load while you were riding around in limousines?”
“I think what Ms. Baskov is trying to say,” another Board member interjects while casting a warning glance at Nadia, “is that your recent vacation was very last minute. Did you receive any adverse feedback from the staff regarding the timing? Did anyone register any complaints?”
“Are you kidding? Most of us were in shock that she finally took some vacation time,” April teases. “But of course, she couldn’t completely unplug; she still fit in a few video conferences when the time zones cooperated. And the emails never stopped.”
A few chuckles register around the room, but it’s clear Nadia isn’t giving up yet. She reaches forward and slides a stack of photos toward me that I reluctantly reach to pick up as she continues, “You’re always harping about maintaining a ‘proper public persona’ because what we do reflects on the organization as a whole. Not exactly the best impression you’re promoting there. I wonder what Parker and his family would think? What our other donors would think?”
My brow furrowed in confusion, I flip through the photos. There were a few fuzzy photos of Kennedy and I that I’d already seen, thanks to Maddie. Thank god the photographer who captured us on the terrace under the stars was too far away to get a detailed shot. Next were a few clear shots of Sean in all his drunken glory at some club.
I can’t help my chuckle at the look on his face; he’s everything Kennedy said and more. But then I gasp softly as I flip to the last two photos. The first is a clear shot of Kennedy and I standing outside the pub after our Abbey Road excursion. My arms are wrapped around his neck as he holds me close to him, and my heart leaps to see the tender expression on his face as he looks at me. It’s breathtaking.
How could I help but fall in love with this beautiful, co
mplex man?
Seeing the emotion on his face, I scold myself again for taking so long to admit how I felt about him. He had taken the risk, put himself out there from the beginning, and patiently waited for me to catch up. He truly is amazing. I’ll never deny my heart—or his—again.
I turn to the second photo and freeze.
It’s a shot of what happened next; when I took Kennedy’s face between my hands and kissed the stuffing out of him. Holy crap, that’s hot. I can feel my face heat as my blood races through my veins, my body clearly remembering the moment.
I clear my throat, conscious of the eyes on me. “Where did you get these?” I ask softly, a smile playing about my lips and my eyes still on the photo.
“They were uploaded to Twitter this morning by a random tourist,” one of the other Board members offers.
“We’re not sure if you’ve been identified yet, but it’s only a matter of time. Ms. Baskov provided them as part of her, ah, information packet.”
“I see. Well, thank you. I hadn’t seen these yet. It was inevitable that there would be some clear photos, I suppose.” At least my hair looked good that day. I set the photos back on the table and face the group with a serene smile on my face.
“I’ve already worked with my team in anticipation of when Abby would be identified, and we have a simple statement prepared,” April chimes in. “Basically, it reads, ‘her private life is private, but we’d love to give you some information about the Foundation and our upcoming events.’ It won’t be a problem.”
There are murmurs of approval from around the table, but Nadia ignores them and glares at me. “That’s it?” she demands. “That’s all you have to say for yourself, Abby?”
“I don’t see anything here that warrants further explanation,” I retort, quirking an eyebrow at her. “I’ve already said that I have a close tie with Kennedy—Mr. Lane. It came about separately from his participation with us, and it will not affect Parker’s dream or the Foundation in any way. If it becomes detrimental to the Foundation in the future, I would expect to address the situation with Mr. Shepherd and the rest of the Board at that time. But until then, I don’t see a problem.”